


when I needed you most

by gudetama (elementary)



Series: say you won't let go [3]
Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Affection, Alpha Newt, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Case Fic, Hurt Newt Scamander, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Nightmares, Omega Original Percival Graves, Original Character Death(s), Original Percival Graves is a Softie, Protective Newt, Sick Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-18
Updated: 2017-07-09
Packaged: 2018-11-15 20:03:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 33,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11238183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elementary/pseuds/gudetama
Summary: Part 1: Percival and Newt both suck at taking care of themselves, but one is slightly better at it than the otherPart 2+3: The weird casefic that no one wanted, including myself





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a sickfic and hurtfic wrapped in one! Seriously, who doesn't like those tropes because I can shamelessly say that I looooooove them. Also an excuse to write soft Percival even though I'm not sure if the tag means what I think it means
> 
> This is sometime after 'i'll bring you coffee with a kiss on your head', another two months-ish (idk why I even bother trying to keep track of their timeline when I can't remember most of the time what happened when)
> 
> Part 2 will probably be finished and posted later this week, Friday I reckon. Enjoy!

Percival Graves was a notorious workaholic. Percival Graves-Scamander _is_ a notorious workaholic.

Newt knows it, Madam Picquery knows it, the aurors know it, _Dougal_ knows it. Everyone except for Percival himself.

Oh, he claims otherwise, says that he is perfectly aware that he works too hard _sometimes_ (and Newt had snorted at that—what an understatement) but he doesn’t acknowledge it as a problem. No, he says it’s his _duty_ and _job_ but nowhere does it say that the Director of Magical Security must overwork himself to the point of collapsing on a regular basis to be competent.

It doesn’t get that bad anymore because since meeting Newt, Percival has slowly learned to accept the persuasions of others to take a break or lessen his workload. But the past couple weeks, his mate has been downright stubborn due to some incidents possibly related to a large criminal ring suspected to be led by Grindelwald’s followers—and he has been driving Newt insane with frustration and worry. Newt would feed the creatures by himself in the evening and emerge to find his husband still working away with no signs of stopping, or he’ll wake up to Percival already up and at his desk, an empty mug by his side. Newt honestly doesn’t know how he has lived long enough for them to meet, if this is how much Newt struggles as a _husband_ to keep Percival functioning. When he asks the Senior Aurors... 

“We... don’t know, exactly,” O’Brien says guiltily.

“It must have been the coffee,” says Deputy Director Fontaine. “Worked as a source of endless fumes, I suppose.”

“Maybe we shouldn’t have gotten him a personal machine,” Johnson adds worriedly.

Even the unflappable Mathews seems concerned. “He hasn’t been leaving his office much since he has no need to go get a cup from the lunchroom, now that I think about it.”

They all automatically turn to see when the subject of their discussion emerges from the hallway to his office, fatigue and stress apparent on his face. Everyone winces or looks away as Percival shoots them a scathing look when he passes by with folders in his hand. He walks briskly and is soon gone from the room.

“This one really has him on the edge,” Mathews mutters, shaking her head.

Fontaine sighs. “I wouldn’t mind if he gave us more work to do, especially from that case.”

“True,” Abernathy also sighs, but her face is guilty. “If it wasn’t related to _him_ , he wouldn’t be this obsessed.”

No one speaks for a moment, solemn in their guilt over their biggest mistake from over three years ago.

“Hey, you think little Newt could ask if we can help out some?” ponders O’Brien.

“You think?” Mathews asks sceptically. “When he’s like that, I don’t think even the power of Newt would have any effect.”

All of a sudden, they turn to look at him as one and Newt feels himself blush before bowing his head.

“I could, um—I could try,” he stammers.

“But we would need to be especially careful,” Johnson points out. “He’d probably look over every detail with even more scrutiny than usual.”

Because Percival is what you would call a perfectionist, fortunately (or unfortunately, depending on who is asked). Newt has never been on the receiving end of an infamous lecture about proper reports because he isn’t required to write one himself, but he has heard the stories, has been told that they were quite legendary back in the days.

“He’s a dangerous combination of meticulous and intuitive, which understandably makes him the best Director MACUSA has ever had,” Fontaine says and the others reluctantly agree.

“Thank you for the compliment, Fontaine,” Percival says, suddenly behind them, “but I’d appreciate it more if you would all _stop chatting amongst yourselves_. You are setting terrible examples for the Juniors.”

He’s gone before anyone can even utter a reply and Tina, also passing by, shakes her head at them.

“Morgana,” Mathews groans, “it’s like he only sees us when we’re not working.”

“Yes, it’s called getting caught,” Abernathy remarks dryly.

“We’re _on a break_ ,” O’Brien argues. “Isn’t that right, little Newt?”

Newt, who had been watching Percival worriedly, startles at his name being called. “Pardon? Um, sorry, I just have to check something.” 

“Good luck, man,” Johnson salutes, expression sympathetic.

“Thank you,” Newt replies as he stands, “it’s just—”

And he doesn’t finish his sentence before leaving to follow his mate because—and he hopes he’s wrong—he thinks he saw Percival’s hands shaking as he uncrossed his arms before curling them into fists. He turns down the hallway and Ms. Kett looks up when she hears his footsteps, and his chest tightens further because worry is apparent on her face.

“Newt,” she greets, “he’s inside.” After a beat, she adds, “He didn’t seem well.”

Newt nods his thanks and enters the office, closing the doors behind him.

It’s empty. 

“Percival?” he calls, dread increasing when he can’t find him—“Lady!”

The occamy is peeking out from behind Percival’s desk, chirping in distress, then disappears to where he assumes Percival is. Newt immediately rounds the desk, heart lurching and stomach dropping when he sees Percival curled up on the floor. He drops to his knees, ignoring the painful impact as he frantically reaches for his mate. Lady moves to the side so Newt can get a closer look—pale, clammy skin, high spots of red on his cheeks, a bruised forehead, and troubled breathing.

“Percival. Percival?”

Newt tries to keep his voice low and soothing while inwardly cursing himself for letting his mate leave the house today. He had seen the signs of oncoming sickness and asked Percival to take even one day off, but the man had brushed him off again and Newt had been so tired of arguing the same thing over and over, had let it go when he shouldn’t have.

Percival slowly opens his eyes and Newt smiles wide in relief. He gently cradles the man’s face, noting the worrying temperature, and brushes his hair back. Percival blinks heavily, fighting against the fever and struggling to gain awareness. He winces and tries to bring his hand up, which Newt grasps so he doesn’t poke at the bruise.

“Newt,” Percival croaks.

“I’m here, love,” Newt reassures, pressing cold fingers to his lips. “You gave Lady a scare.”

“It’s cold,” his mate says before coughing weakly.

“I know. Do you think you can get up?”

Percival nods and Newt helps him upright, wraps his arms around the man when he just falls into him. Newt nuzzles at him softly, frowning at how hot he is. He’s amazed that it took this long for Percival to collapse and curses himself again.

Newt pulls out his wand and murmurs a spell to heal the bruise first, then aims at the door, opening it before sending out a signal. Ms. Kett comes dashing in, and Newt waves a hand so she can see where they are. She gasps when she sees Percival.

“Would you help me, please?” Newt asks quietly so as not to disturb the sick man.

Between the two of them, it’s easy enough to get Percival comfortable on Newt’s back even though his mate is uncooperative.

“I still have work, Newt,” he tries and Newt grits his teeth, feeling a spike of annoyance at Percival’s persistence.

But then Percival buries his head into Newt’s neck and whimpers as he scents him and Newt knows he’s now beyond coherent thought. Ms. Kett is watching them with wide eyes, understandably shocked by Percival’s softer side. Newt picks Lady up from where she has moved onto the desk, allows her to wind around his arm before asking Ms. Kett to get his suitcase and open it. A simple charm allows both of them to fit through the opening and Newt tries not to jostle his husband too much, heart clenching each time Percival coughs or lets out a pained noise.

Newt spells the cot into a temporary bed and lowers Percival carefully onto it, and Lady immediately goes to him, curling up next to her owner. His mate tries to hold on but in his weakened state, it’s easy for Newt to slip away from his grasp and tuck him in.

“Newt—”

“We’re going home, Percival, whether you still have work or not,” Newt says sternly while searching his cabinets for something that will help with the fever, and how does he not have _any_ Pepper-Ups— “I’m certain Mr. Fontaine will be able to handle things in your brief absence.”

“—go, please, don’t go,” he hears from his mate and freezes.

Newt whips around and Percival is trying to push himself up, fever-glazed eyes staring right through him. He goes to his mate and coaxes him back down, taking one of his hands, squeezing.

“I’m right here, darling,” Newt croons, cupping Percival’s cheek with his other hand. “Go to sleep.”

“Don’t go,” Percival repeats pitifully, leaning into Newt’s touch while struggling to keep his eyes open.

“Not going anywhere,” Newt confirms, and watches as Percival slowly but surely falls into a much needed sleep.

Newt sighs, strokes the heated skin of Percival’s face before placing a kiss on his forehead and letting go. He pets Lady to comfort her and gives her a treat to cheer her up, then moves the occamy so she won’t catch any bugs from his mate much to her displeasure. But she likes him enough to let him get away with just a bite and, well, Newt has had worse. He leaves her to keep his mate company, wiping his bleeding finger carelessly on his shirt, and goes to find a caretaker.

Dougal isn’t too far from the workshop, thankfully, and Newt is easily able to convince him to come along. 

“Just keep an eye on him for me, please? I’m going to takes us home,” Newt tells him as he places a wet cloth on Percival’s forehead, frowning in sympathy when the man flinches.

Dougal walks right up to the narrow bed and places his paws on the edge, leaning over, and Pickett also chooses this moment to climb out, probably deeming it safe enough to do so. They both gaze at his husband then simultaneously turn to Newt as if asking what is wrong.

“Alright, not too close; don’t want you to get sick,” Newt warns, and they obediently step back a little. “He’ll get better soon; don’t worry.”

Newt reassures them, but Pickett stays where he is to watch Percival and so, feeling touched, he climbs back out by himself. The office is empty, doors closed, and he has to admire Ms. Kett for her quick thinking and discretion. Newt is suddenly proud of his husband because everyone who works with him is kind, loyal, and competent like the man himself.

He moves quickly, putting on his coat, scarf and gloves before collecting Percival’s things. He silently apologises to Percival as he tosses them into the case, then latches it shut. When he steps out, Ms. Kett looks up with eyes full of questions and concern.

“He’s inside,” Newt tells her, lifting his suitcase. “And sorry to keep asking for favours, but would you mind letting Deputy Director Fontaine know that Percival is sick and that I’m taking him home for the day? He’ll likely be back tomorrow, if he has his way.”

“Of course,” Ms. Kett replies, nodding and eyes rolling fondly. “Please take care of him, Newt.”

“Of course!” he says, grinning, and waves goodbye.

He receives curious looks as he walks through the room of aurors, but no one stops him and he is able to go see Healer Eleanor without delay. She generously offers to check his husband, stepping into the suitcase herself. She tuts disapprovingly as she runs her spells and for some reason, it makes Newt want to put himself in a corner and ask for forgiveness even though it isn’t directed at him.

“Please give him one of these as soon as he wakes,” she informs him after she’s finished and they’ve climbed back out, handing him a Grand Pepper-Up potion. “One should do; it’s mainly exhaustion, and his body simply doesn’t have the energy to fight off the fever right now, that foolish boy.”

Newt looks up at her in shock, but she’s eyeing his case with fond exasperation. “Ah, yes, um. Thank you very much for your help, Healer Eleanor, even though I barged in here rather abruptly.”

“It was no trouble at all,” she says kindly, looking at him. “I’m glad he has you to take care of him.”

He feels himself flush at that, both embarrassed and guilty. “I do my best, ma’am.” Except this time.

After that, it’s simply apparating home. Newt wastes no time getting Percival into bed, stripping him of his dirty and uncomfortable clothes, and scourgifying the man before putting him in his sleepwear. Percival doesn’t wake up but he makes the occasional noise of discomfort and Newt debates whether he should let the man sleep a while longer or wake him for the potion. He has a feeling that if he chooses the latter, Percival will try and go back to work once the symptoms are alleviated, but he can’t bear to let him suffer any longer.

Newt goes to retrieve the potion from his case and takes a quick look around because some of the creatures had tried to gather around his workshop earlier, likely due to smelling his and Percival’s combined distress from when he had been looking for Dougal. Once he sees them back in their proper habitats, he leaves.

Percival is moaning in his sleep, and Newt is by his side instantly. He sees his husband’s face is contorted in fear and anger and pain, knows he must be having a nightmare. Newt holds one of his hands and shakes him gently with the other while calling his name softly, like all the other times he had to wake Percival from the horrors of his own mind.

“I’m here, Percival,” Newt says, but his mate doesn’t respond.

Percival mumbles something and Newt leans closer, straining to hear it. It’s his name, but there is also more.

“—no, not you, don’t...”

He sounds frightened and Newt tries harder to wake him, but the fever makes it difficult. 

“Percival,” Newt calls, struggling to keep his tone soothing as the seconds go by without success. “it’s Newt. Wake up, please.”

Percival whimpers and it breaks his heart, makes him tighten his grip on his mate because he’s _right here_ and he doesn’t want to be forceful and further scare the man, but— 

“Newt... alpha, _please_ ,” Percival cries, and now there are tears dripping down his face.

“Percival!” Newt finally shouts and his mate opens his eyes with a startled yell.

Percival tries to pull away from him, gasping for air while crying, and Newt just gathers him up and sits him on his lap, holds Percival’s head down against his throat and waits. Percival struggles for a minute, but it feels longer as Newt listens to his mate plead for him before returning to reality.

“Alpha...” Percival whines as he weakly grasps back, face burning against Newt’s skin.

“I know, I know; it hurts,” Newt says, stroking his head, “but let’s get you better, okay?”

Percival continues to scent him, his omega instincts taking over with his guard completely down from the fever and Newt suspects that this rarely happens. He has seen Percival sick before—a sore throat, some congestion, some sneezing—but never to the point that he isn’t somewhat aware of his surroundings. Percival is falling susceptible too easily, like he never had any resistance in the first place.

He remembers the one other time he had seen Percival in such a state, and that had been when they first met, with his mate at the start of a heat during his captivity. And Merlin, Newt can’t be thankful enough that he has found him both times, not wanting to think about what would have happened if Percival had been discovered by someone who could take advantage of him. 

His heart aches when he imagines the man neglecting his own health and trying to recover alone when he used to keep to himself. Newt tightens his hold for a moment, scenting his mate and reassuring himself. He then lets go with one arm to reach for the potion that had been tossed on the bed earlier in his haste.

Newt coaxes his mate into drinking it and smiles slightly at Percival’s small hiccup. Once the potion is finished, he wants his mate to sleep longer to allow for full and proper recovery so he lays him down—or tries to.

Percival lets out a displeased sound and pushes against Newt instead, and the surprising force overbalances both of them. Newt is briefly winded when Percival’s weight falls on him, wincing as his head knocks against Newt’s chin and a knee digs into his stomach. They lie there groaning, and then Newt lets out a breathless laugh.

“Seems like you’re already feeling better,” he thinks out loud.

“I’m sorry,” Percival mutters into Newt’s chest, but he makes no move to get off.

There is already less desperation in his voice, the potion starting to work its magic, and Newt glances down to see steam starting to come up out of Percival’s ears. His mate’s breathing is less of a wheeze as well, the steady puffs of air tickling Newt. No one talks, and Newt lies back, feeling pretty tired himself from this morning’s excitement. His husband is a warm, heavy blanket on him and Newt absently thinks that he should right them on the bed first before sleeping.

“I woke up and you weren’t there,” Percival says suddenly.

Newt blinks at the ceiling, confused, because he’s certain he _was_ , but before he can open his mouth to question it, his mate continues. 

“Our room was filled with items I didn’t recognise and the closet had strange clothes, but for some reason, I knew they belonged to my mate. I looked around the house, couldn’t find you or the case, and I called for you many times but no one answered. I didn’t know what was going on, so I was planning to leave the house to keep looking. And then someone called me.”

Percival inhales shakily, and Newt swallows, slowly rubbing a hand up and down his husband’s back.

“It led me to the cellar.”

The words come out hushed as if Percival is afraid of them, and Newt stiffens. “Percival—” 

“Let me finish,” Percival cuts him off hoarsely. “Please.”

“Alright,” Newt replies, throat tight.

His mate doesn’t talk for the next few minutes, however, and Newt just listens to him breathe to try and calm himself. Newt wishes he could tell him that he doesn’t have to keep going, but he also understands that Percival needs to get this out while he can. With his free hand, Newt finds one of Percival’s and locks their fingers together, squeezes in encouragement.

“Somewhere in my mind, I knew that the cellar was a bad place, that I should stay away from it,” Percival continues quietly, keeping his voice monotonous like he’s relaying facts and nothing more. “But I wanted to see you, thought it was you, so I went down. It was dark, obviously.”

Percival lets out a short, humourless laugh and it grates on Newt’s ears because the sound is all wrong. 

“He was there when I brightened the room. Grindelwald,” and Percival’s voice shakes slightly on the wretched name. “It was terrible, because he wasn’t my mate, but he _was_ —as if I knew I was mated but the nightmare twisted that fact into something horrifying.”

Newt is now using both arms to embrace Percival, to ground himself as much as supporting his mate. He hates that even after death, the dark wizard will not leave Percival in peace. 

“He beckoned me over, but I didn’t go to him, tried to escape. The door shut and locked me in, and he grabbed me, threw me against the wall and chained me to it. Like before—“ Percival stops, digging his fingers into where they are holding onto Newt’s arms. “—And that’s when I knew to call for you, because you were the one who saved me from there.”

Newt strokes Percival’s hair, lifts his own head to press a kiss to it. He’s glad that Percival had called for him and Newt had been able to free him from the nightmare in time. 

“It ended on a good note, I suppose,” Percival remarks a while later, sounding much lighter.

Newt somewhat agrees, but he’s still upset that Percival had ignored everything and pushed himself too hard to follow those leads on this particular case. He had focused so much on Grindelwald that it had haunted him in return. But he holds his tongue for now, and instead thinks about spoiling his mate while he is bedridden.

“You must be hungry,” Newt says, “You haven’t eaten properly for some days now. Is there anything you’d like?”

Percival finally lifts his face from Newt’s chest to look at him. The lines of it are soft and his skin is lightly flushed, and Newt is happy to see that no darkness or fear lingers in his expression. Newt releases the man and folds his arms under his head to see better.

His mate frowns. “I’m not—” 

“And if you say that you’re not hungry, I’m going to sit you down and feed you.”

Newt says it jokingly, but also to let the man know that he will need to eat one way or another. And to his utter shock, Percival sort of... melts. There’s no other way to describe how his mate completely relaxes his whole body on top of him, frown giving way to something soft.

“Fine.”

Merlin, Percival must still be acting on his omega instincts, giving in just like that, and Newt tries not to think too hard about that lest he react instinctively as well.

“Right. Good,” Newt says after clearing his throat. “Then why don’t you wait here for a bit and I’ll go make something quickly—”

Then he trails off as Percival narrows his eyes and presses his lips together unhappily. 

“Are you trying to leave, Newt?” he asks accusingly.

Newt frowns, perplexed. “To get you food—” and at that, Percival glares harder.

Without warning, his mate pushes himself up and sits back on his legs, then sways for a moment from possible dizziness but he shakes off Newt’s hand before climbing off. Newt barely has the mind to protest, completely bewildered, and Percival gets off the bed, stumbles out of the room.

Newt scrambles up to go after him. “Percival!”

His mate is already halfway down the stairs by the time Newt gets to the top of them and his heart leaps to his throat when Percival nearly trips on the last few steps.

“Percival!” Newt calls as he runs down. “Where are you going?”

Newt follows him into the kitchen, about to grab him because he really shouldn’t be up so soon even with the potion’s effectiveness, but Percival sits himself down at the dining table and stares up at him daringly as if challenging Newt to move him. There’s something Newt isn’t getting, obviously.

“Well?”

The expectancy in that question throws him off even further and Newt just stares back.

“I thought you were going to make me something,” Percival says impatiently, brows furrowing.

It finally dawns on him. “Yes, of course, but—but you really should be in bed—”

“No,” Percival growls, crossing his arms.

And Newt suddenly feels a helpless sort of affection, not at all threatened by his mate who is in his sleepwear with a stubborn expression on his face, hair in disarray, apparently reluctant to let Newt out of his sight for the moment. Funnily enough, the steam from his ears seems to match his current mood. 

“Alright,” Newt relents as calmly as he can, even though he’d rather kiss his husband silly until he melts under Newt’s affections; feeding him is the main priority. “I think porridge would be best for your stomach right now, and some orange juice.”

When his mate opens his mouth, Newt cuts in with, “No coffee, but I'll brew you some herbal tea.” 

Percival isn't too happy about that, but he doesn’t say anything and this whole moment is surreal for Newt who usually needs to cajole him, as well as beg or argue for healthier habits. His mate is unbelievably bullheaded even as a sick person from Newt’s previous experiences, but something is different this time. Perhaps it's the fever, or the nightmare; maybe both. Whatever the reason, Newt plans to take advantage of this rare opportunity and make him finally rest.

He uses a strong fire and spells the ladle to stir quickly for a faster preparation, adjusting the heat when the milk starts bubbling too much. He feels Percival’s eyes on him the whole time he moves around the kitchen area and at one point, he waves at the man to acknowledge him. The smile Newt receives in return goes a long way to soothing his previous worries. 

“Where is Lady?”

“She’s in the case,” Newt replies, adding some salt to the mixture. “I can go get her; she's rather upset, so it'd do you both good.”

When Newt looks over, his mate seems to be conflicted because Newt would have to leave the room but he’s also clearly worried for his occamy. Before he can suggest coming along, Newt grabs a glass, pours it full of orange juice, and places it in Percival’s hands.

“Why don't you drink that while you’re waiting?” Newt suggests. “I’ll be back before you’re done.”

Percival mutters something like an agreement and Newt places a kiss on his head before striding out of the kitchen. He runs up the steps to their room and picks up the whole suitcase to not waste time. He wonders if the others will want to see their daddy, too, but it might be best not to overwhelm his husband right now. They’ve been missing Percival since he has been too busy to help Newt with feeding and hasn’t been visiting at all for the last few days, but Newt will have to soothe them for one more night and hopefully try for tomorrow.

The glass is half empty when Newt returns, and he holds up a hand to let Percival know to wait a little longer before climbing down. Lady is definitely not happy to see him without her daddy in tow and it takes some coaxing and another bite to get her to come along. She leaps out of Newt’s arm into Percival’s open ones as soon as she sees him and immediately wraps herself around his shoulders. Percival apologises quietly and strokes her head as she chirps, and it’s a heart-warming sight that makes Newt smile.

“Thank you, Newt,” he hears, and Newt grins when their eyes meet briefly.

He turns back to the porridge that looks about done and tastes it, thinks it isn’t too bad. Newt scoops some into two bowls even though he isn’t that hungry himself, but since he’s making Percival eat, they might as well eat together. When Newt sets a steaming bowl in front of him, Percival asks, “May I have some syrup?” and he decides that it can’t hurt.

They eat quietly for a few minutes, but then he’s startled when something knocks against his feet. Newt ignores it, figuring that it had been an accident, but then it happens again. And again. Then one of his feet is grabbed and Newt’s head snaps up, but Percival is eating calmly as if nothing is happening under the table. So he retaliates, brings up his other foot to trap one of Percival’s and the man startles, but instead of glaring or kicking him, Percival smiles slightly down at his bowl and continues eating.

It gets weirder after they’re finished and have left the dishes to clean themselves. They sit down in the living room because Percival is being stubborn again and refusing to sleep, but he snuggles up to Newt, basically lying completely on him with his back to Newt’s chest as they drink their tea. Lady sits by Percival’s feet on the other end, more or less consoled now.

“How do you feel, darling?” Newt asks, scratching through his mate’s hair and feeling him relax against him.

“Good,” Percival nearly purrs. “Thank you, Newt.”

“No need to thank me,” Newt replies honestly.

“So good to me,” Percival sighs and twists a little to nose at Newt’s throat, tea forgotten in the air.

Newt thinks all of a sudden that his mate is acting like a cat, with his stretches and purrs and leaving his scent all over Newt in various ways. He’s an unusual mix of stubborn and compliant at the moment and Newt is just trying his best, but he's certain Percival won't be happy about this once he’s fully recovered and back in control. 

Soon after, he’s blinking drowsily because he's pleasantly full and warm and surrounded by his mate’s scent but he needs to stay awake to get Percival to bed. Newt glances down to see Percival shifting slightly and wonders if he should ask again but then he notices the floating cup slowly descending and reaches out to catch it before it falls.

“Percival?” he tries quietly, to which he gets no response.

The small amount of magic also dissipates and it's a sure indication that Percival is no longer conscious enough to keep up the spell. Newt sets the partly empty cup down and manoeuvres himself out from under the man’s weight with some difficulty because his mate tries to hold onto him and there's some whining and hushing and Lady’s hissing. Thankfully, Percival is much too exhausted to wake fully again and curls into Newt immediately when he gets his arms around the man’s back and under his legs. Newt frowns at how light he is, not having noticed earlier in his panic, then allows Lady to slither onto Percival.

Newt sets his husband down carefully on the bed once they’re back in their room, and sighs in both relief and weariness. As he gazes down at Percival, he realises that he has never actually been caring for a sick person all the other times before today.

Percival would usually take a Pepper-Up potion and resume whatever he had been doing within the hour. Of course, Newt would be the one to remind him because more often than not, he’s the first one to notice the signs and Percival is quite adept at ignoring his own descent into illness. In a way, it’s good because Newt has never been as attentive to his own well-being either, usually needing his family or Dougal to remind him to eat and sleep. Out of the two of them, however, he’s surprisingly better at it so Newt has become the health-conscious one by default.

His plans for spoiling his mate have gone out the window but it’s just as well that Percival had known how to seek his own comfort from Newt. He kisses his mate’s cheek and brushes back his hair one last time before bidding him and Lady good night and heading back downstairs.

As he makes the evening round for feeding, Newt feels the familiar ache of loneliness from the absence of his mate beside him. Percival had taken to the creatures as if they were his own and caring for them had become something that they do together, rather than Newt by himself. But he can’t admit to his husband that it isn’t only the creatures that miss him in the suitcase, knowing how important it is for Percival to find the truth about this criminal ring and its leaders.

He has to spend some extra time comforting Dougal and Pickett because they had been upset when Newt wouldn’t let them out to see Percival to prevent any sickness spreading to them. It doesn’t take long, however, since they seem to recognise that Newt isn’t quite happy either. He tells himself as Dougal sits in his lap and Pickett pats his cheek that it will only be a little while longer. He’ll convince Percival to share more of his thoughts and observations with his team so that everyone can contribute to solving this case. 

After everything is finished, Newt checks the house one last time. He gives a firm couple of knocks to the wall blocking off the cellar which had already been in place since before he moved in, reassuring himself that Percival won’t be going down there anytime soon, if ever. The lights turn down as he makes his way back up, and he feels lazy enough to only brush his teeth and strip down to his underwear before climbing into bed. Newt wraps himself around his sleeping mate, glad that they’re finally able to get some proper rest together. He presses his lips to a forehead that has significantly cooled down, and smiles as he hears Percival grumble something before settling once more.

He follows Percival into a dreamless sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, uh, this took a direction that I didn't really intend... now it has become a weird thing. Can't say if that's good news, but the bad news is that I probably have one more chapter to go. And hopefully that will be up in the next few days, lol.
> 
> I was doing very minimal research on MACUSA and stuff and I realised how convoluted their whole system is? The laws and stuff?? I had quite the trouble trying to make sense of anything so please gloss over all the made-up crap if you can :(
> 
> Thank you as always for the lovely, lovely comments and kudos. You are all gems.

The first thing Percival notices as he slowly swims back to consciousness is the cozy warmth and comforting scent of Newt. He keeps his eyes closed for a few more minutes, breathing in that smell that he hadn’t known he missed until now. The second thing is that he feels refreshed and energized, ready to face the day. The usual grogginess that accompanies his mornings is absent and there's a distinct sensation of having rested well. Then Percival finally opens his eyes.

Newt is right there in front of him, close enough that Percival can count all the freckles on his cute face. His mouth is parted slightly to allow for quiet breathing and Percival doesn’t recall when he last kissed his mate. So he does now, leans in and presses his own lips lightly against Newt’s, feels the man respond to the stimulus unconsciously. He pulls back with a sigh, then blushes as the memories of yesterday come rushing back.

He pushes himself up and gathers Lady who is awake, then hurries to the bathroom. He lets the occamy lounge on the counter as he strips off, then takes a piss before hopping into the tub. Percival is glad to be washing off the tackiness from sweating out his fever and takes a moment to be grateful for a mate who isn’t sensitive about such things.

In fact, the more he thinks as the hot water soaks him, the more he remembers all the little ways in which Newt had been attentive towards him even when he had been a difficult patient. It had been easier to just let go after days and weeks of pushing himself mentally and physically, the nightmare being a breaking point, to simply fall into arms that would catch him without fail. His omega had thrived under all the attention and much to his current mortification, Percival had clung shamelessly to his alpha the whole day.

He finishes his shower and steps out to find Lady dozing off, enjoying the steam of the bathroom. He lets her be while he brushes his teeth, shaves, and pats himself dry, then curses because he forgot his robe. He coaxes her to climb onto his shoulders, briefly wonders if he should implement some routine exercises into her day; she’s either getting heavier even while small, or he’s getting weaker. When she nudges at his cheek and licks him affectionately, he thinks maybe he can use some exercise, too.

Newt is still asleep—unexpectedly quite the heavy sleeper, his dear husband—when Percival exits the bathroom and makes his way to the hanger by the door for his robe. He puts it on with Lady deftly lifting herself off him in a wave to let the clothing sit under her properly, and grabs a pair of underwear and soft pants to wear as well. After tucking his wand into his robe pocket, he silently leaves the room.

It’s quite chilly outside the bedroom and Percival charms himself for temporary warmth before quickly walking downstairs. He stops by the living room to start a fire in the fireplace then heads to the kitchen. He gets a pot of coffee brewing and also boils some water for Newt’s tea, then goes outside to retrieve today’s paper.

And just like that, his pleasant mood comes crashing down as he’s reminded why he had fallen ill in the first place. Percival presses his lips together in a grim line as he sees the front page and walks back inside. The bold headline states that a witch has been killed in an attack and further reading reveals that the suspects are thought to be dark wizards roaming the streets of New York City. Anger and sorrow rise within his chest, knowing that a citizen has lost her life under their watch and Percival could’ve stopped it if only he had tried harder.

His hands start to tremble and he crushes the papers between them, tosses them into the fire as he passes the living room. In the kitchen, he snatches a mug from the cupboard and pours himself coffee. He doesn’t drink it right away, just stares down at the steaming black liquid as if it’ll give him any answers.

The attack had occurred last night while Percival had been sleeping comfortably. Sometime during the night, a family may have lost a loved one; a daughter, a sister, a mother, a wife. Because Percival had not taken their enemies seriously and thought he could have a restful day to himself with his alpha who had stupidly taken him away from his work—

Percival clenches his teeth and closes his eyes, shame washing over him. Newt has done nothing wrong; he had rightly brought home an incapacitated mate and nursed him back to health. His mate had warned him, pleaded with him to take care of himself and because Percival hadn’t listened and moderated himself, he had not been there to prevent this woman’s death.

Perhaps sensing his distress, Lady chirps softly in his ear and at the same time, he hears Newt enter the kitchen.

“There you are,” Newt says brightly. “Good morning—”

Then his mate trails off as Percival turns to him. He can’t quite hide his emotions, and he doesn’t want to. Newt approaches him in a few quick steps and folds him into a hug and Percival allows this one last weakness, lays his head on Newt’s shoulder and wraps his arms around his mate.

“What happened?” Newt asks, concerned. “Are you alright? How are you feeling?”

He rubs his cheek against Percival’s and scents him, and Percival wishes this could be a typical morning where they would proceed to have breakfast together, talk idly about what might happen today or eat in comfortable silence.

“I have to get to work,” he says instead of answering, pulling away.

Newt, obviously confused, doesn’t let go easily. “But—”

“Someone _died_ , Newt. We have no time to waste.”

Newt’s mouth drops open and his eyes widen in shock. “Who?”

“A civilian, a witch. I don’t have any more details than that,” he replies, trying to think. “We have to stop them before they kill someone else.”

“Right,” Newt says shakily, then grasps Percival’s hands. “Right. Um. Are you going to be okay—”

“I’m _fine_ ,” Percival growls. “I’ll be going on ahead.”

He rips his hands out of Newt’s hold and walks out of the kitchen. He didn’t mean to be so abrupt with his husband but seeing him and falling automatically into those comforting arms makes him think that he’s no longer prioritising the safety of his people, his city, and it shames him.

Percival drops off Lady in the suitcase and dresses himself. As he’s finishing with his tie, Newt enters the bedroom, a mug in his hand.

“You forgot your coffee,” he reminds Percival, voice subdued.

Percival stops for a moment, taking in his mate. He can tell Newt wants to say something, but he’s holding back again. And unfortunately, Percival does not have the time or mind to hear what he has to say even though he is always trying to encourage Newt to open up to him. Today is already starting out as a complete disaster.

He thanks Newt, takes the offered mug and drains it, the coffee just cool enough to go down without burning his throat.

“Percival,” Newt calls as he’s leaving.

When he looks back, his heart sinks at the longing in his mate’s eyes. Merlin, why are all these things happening at once? And then Percival realises he hasn’t even kissed his husband good morning and he should do that now—

“I—I’ll see you at work,” Newt finishes, turning around, and the chance is gone.

Percival turns away as well, feeling hollow inside, and it’s as he steps outside into the freezing wind that he also realises this is their first time going to work separately. The fact leaves a bitter taste in his mouth that has nothing to do with coffee and it stays with him until he arrives at MACUSA. Then he’s too busy for anything else.

He meets with his aurors, discusses what has happened and gathers as much information about the incident from the ones who had first arrived at the scene. He doesn’t bother to go into his office to read through the initial reports, choosing to ask for elaboration as he needs them.

The victim has been identified as Portia Ankins, a young beta woman in her early twenties who worked as a kindergarten teacher. She had lived with her parents and an older sister who have been informed early this morning of their loss and are currently with a councillor. According to them, she had gone out last night to spend the evening with her friends with the intention of coming home late, and her parents had relented under the condition that she does not travel alone at any time.

“Did she not abide by their rules?” Percival asks. “What happened to her friends?”

“We have yet to know, sir,” replies Hayes, the auror whose desk he is currently leaning on. “Haven’t had the chance to send people out yet.”

Percival quickly reads through the rest of it, then sends a team to track down witnesses with a specific focus on Ms. Ankins’ friends, and a pair to talk to the family. He then meets with Seraphina to inform her of the current situation and also writes a letter to Theseus to warn him of possibly renewed Grindelwald-related activities.

And because he is restless with desire to solve this case, he decides to have yet another team accompany him for further investigation of the scene, wanting to see it with his own eyes and hopefully find any residual magic.

Newt arrives just as he’s leaving, and he smiles slightly as they pass one another but Newt seems to have trouble returning it. It bothers him until he scolds himself for being distracted.

“How are you feeling, sir?” Tina asks on their way to the crime scene.

“I’m much better, thank you,” he replies absently.

“Surprised us, you know?” O'Brien pipes in. “The little shit walked out of the room so casually like he didn’t just kidnap you.”

Percival raises an unimpressed brow at the man. “The ‘little shit’ you speak of is my husband. And did he really?”

O’Brien grins. “Well, Juniper did let us know right after. By the way, looking pretty good, boss; I expected you to be gone longer from the way she described it.”

Percival wonders how Ms. Kett explained a simple fever and lack of sleep. He sighs, then notices the other aurors glancing his way curiously.

“Enough,” he tells his team sternly. “We are here to catch a murderer, and the victim deserves the best of our efforts to bring her justice.

There is a chorus of ‘yes, sir’ and he nods at their grim expressions.

When they arrive, it’s to a magically barricaded alleyway that barely allows any lighting from any source, and illuminating it shows no signs of conflict at first sight. Percival directs his team to pair off and search for any clues starting from the outermost of a two-mile radius and make their way back towards the centre while he focuses on the alleyway itself.

He thinks about why the victim had to walk through it or if she had been dragged in here to be killed out of sight. It’s quite narrow—two people would have to squeeze by to pass each other—with no apparition point nearby. It must have been an intentional move by the murderer.

There are no traces of blood and he can’t decide if that’s better or worse, and also makes a note to visit the morgue afterwards. A closer look with conjured light reveals some unusual cracks in the surrounding buildings, but not large enough to indicate a serious fight—perhaps a hex or two that had flown off-course, and there is a pang in his chest when he imagines an underhanded, one-sided duel against someone caught completely off-guard.

A wave of his wand shows no other traces of magic, hidden or otherwise, and he had figured as much but it’s still a disappointment all the same.

He senses a strange presence before he hears the footsteps and it's less than a second in which he spins around and disarms whoever is behind him. He hears a startled shout, can't see who it is because of the backlight from the alleyway’s entrance, but immediately follows up with a binding spell. Percival hears the impact of a body falling to the ground and a groan of pain as he steps cautiously towards the fallen stranger. He picks up a wand as he goes, and soon finds a young man blinking up at him, fear and apprehension contorting his features. He clearly had not been expecting any confrontation.

“It wasn’t me, I swear!” the boy pleads.

And Percival knows right away this person has little to no relation to the main criminals, possibly a hired scapegoat to check the state of the crime scene and any persons of interest and report back to someone of a lower level. They are either being reckless, to be so obvious in broad daylight, or he is of no consequence to them whatsoever.

“What do you mean by that, exactly?” Percival asks, eyes narrowing.

The boy pales, realising his stupidity. He may not be any loss to them if he gets caught, but it’s the first tangible clue that they have and Percival will have to make the best of it.

As soon as the boy starts babbling, Percival silences him then pulls him up, easily thwarting any attempts to escape. He imagines it won’t be too long before the team returns, so he decides to wait for them. He leans the both of them against the wall, frightening the young man into stillness with a glare, then thinks of what to do afterwards while keeping his wand pointed at him.

A simple interrogation would do; nothing serious because he senses the boy will confess everything with hardly any pressure. He highly doubts that they will get something useful out of him, though. Chances are that he dealt with someone who would have disguised themselves if they were smart.

Percival sighs quietly, knows that there is no point in getting angry or disappointed. He has been at this job for long enough to know that a relevant, promising lead is a needle in a haystack of dead ends. He’ll ask one of the Juniors to be in charge of this one and in the meantime, he and the others will rotate patrolling the city at night to prevent further attacks.

Percival feels an oncoming headache, and the pathetic sniffling of the man next to him isn’t helping. Yet he’s a pitiful one, likely not having known what kind of trouble he would be getting into. He doesn’t comfort him but doesn’t scold either, and eventually the boy calms down.

A few minutes later, he hears the first of his aurors approaching the mouth of the alleyway, and he grasps the young man’s shoulder to march them towards the exit. Just as they near it, the hairs on the back of his neck rise in a sudden chill and Percival whips around, wand at the ready.

There is nothing, but the barricade on the other side has been shattered.

“Sir?”

Not taking his eyes away from the empty space, Percival pushes his bound suspect towards Tina. “He’s a possible lead, Tina; please handle him with care as he seems to be the delicate sort.”

Percival then starts walking towards the opposite end of the alley, and he hears Tina say something to her partner before hastily following him so he silences any sound that they are making. But nothing happens as they near the other side, and Percival figures that whoever had been here is gone now.

A wand sneaks around the corner and shoots straight at him. Percival conjures a shield quick enough and the spell ricochets off of it and crashes high into the side building. Tina gasps but they both sprint down the rest of the way before flattening themselves against the wall right at the edge. The wand come around again and Percival simply grabs the hand holding it and twists hard, disarming the suspect. He then bends it back further and someone cries out in pain before exposing themselves by stepping around the corner, and it gives him and Tina a chance to point both their wands at a woman whose face is tight with pain.

“Who the hell are you people?” she snarls, long, brown hair in a tangled mess and equally brown eyes burning in anger.

Percival raises a brow, and he exchanges a brief look with Tina.

“That’s what we would like to ask you,” Percival replies calmly, realising that she is not the one he had sensed earlier. “Were you planning to shoot at anyone who happened to pass by here? That was extremely reckless and violent behaviour and we can have you arrested for assault.”

The woman’s face slackens in confusion as she sniffles, not fighting anymore. “I don’t—”

“Director!”

Senior Auror Abernathy appears behind the woman, looking out of breath. Percival meets her eyes, and seeing her nod, he then loosens his grip and lets Abernathy take hold of her.

“I’m sorry, sir. We were talking to the family and they realised their daughter was missing and asked us to find her,” she explains. “But I see that she found us first.”

Penelope Ankins makes a wounded noise as her eyes fill with tears. “Director?”

Percival feels a pang of sympathy in his chest. “Percival Graves, Director of Magical Security. I am truly sorry for your loss, Ms. Ankins.”

At his words, her face crumples terribly in anguish, and the tears finally fall as she sobs, sinking to the ground. Abernathy sits down with her, rubs her shoulders gently while looking up at Percival with helpless anger. Percival feels very much the same way, and his hands ball into fists as he tenses his jaw.

He wonders who then had been observing him with malicious intent.

They return to MACUSA with both Ms. Ankins and the young man, one led to the holding cells and the other to the healing wards. They escort the sister home after she has calmed down and answered a few questions, and the boy, Chris, confirms that he doesn’t know anything, that he was only to cause of a bit of trouble in the area.

Percival is writing down his shenanigan of a morning when Newt drops by his office.

“Do you have time for lunch?” his husband asks tentatively, biting his lip and not meeting Percival’s eyes.

To Percival, it sounds like he’s asking, “Do you have time for me?” and it’s rather upsetting. Newt has never been unsure about asking things of him, not since their courting. The knowledge sits uncomfortably in his chest, so Percival stands and goes to him, cups Newt’s face and draws him in for a long overdue kiss. Newt melts into him, hands dropping the lunch bags before coming up as well to grasp Percival’s neck. They both sigh at the familiar and missed contact and spend a few minutes sharing soft kisses, scenting one another.

“I miss you,” Newt confesses quietly, and Percival opens his eyes to gaze at his mate.

“I’m sorry,” Percival returns, then presses another kiss to Newt’s mouth. “It’s only that these last few cases have been crucial and—”

“I know,” Newt interjects, and he lets go of Percival. “I know, it’s just—I’m here, too.”

Percival frowns, letting go as well. “What do you mean?”

“I understand you’re busy and this is important to you, and that’s fine; but please don’t act like you’re alone in this.”

The words come out in a rush, in an outburst, and somewhere in the back of his mind, he understands that Newt has been wanting to say this to him, and he’s glad. At the forefront, however, the words rub him the wrong way.

“What is that supposed to mean?” he questions, eyes narrowing.

“I mean, I can help, too,” Newt replies. “I can help, and some of my creatures can be useful for investigations.”

His mate looks determined, confident.

“Out of the question,” Percival rejects immediately, heart pounding at the suggestion, crossing his arms. “You’re a civilian and I won’t endanger you or your creatures.”

“I work here, Percival, and you know I am perfectly capable in the field,” Newt argues. “And I would never put them in harm’s way, either.”

His mate steps in and gently unfolds his crossed arms, takes his hands and squeezes them. “You don’t have to fight alone, Percival. I’m here, too.”

“That doesn’t matter,” Percival snaps, pulling away. “This is an auror’s job and you are _not_ an auror.”

Hurt flashes over Newt’s face and Percival regrets his harsh tone, but there is no way he would let his mate walk willingly into danger. Newt tenses his jaw for a moment, then bends down to pick up their forgotten lunch. For a chilling moment, Percival thinks he might just walk out but instead, Newt reaches out a hand for him to take and leads him to the couch.

The silence between them isn’t comfortable at all as they eat together, but Percival will take anything from his mate that he allows. He misses Newt, too, and Percival knows he hasn’t been there for his husband even when they’re occupying the same space.

Newt leaves shortly after, mutters something about seeing him at home, and Percival is left in silence that is now both uncomfortable _and_ lonely. He tells himself not to be bothered, that Newt understands. He then blocks all other thoughts and pores over case files and notes for the rest of the afternoon.

Newt is feeding the creatures when he arrives home, and Percival doesn’t go down into the case because he knows he won’t be able to visit only briefly. When Newt comes out, Percival is at his desk in their room, notes scattered and mug empty. His mate is asleep by the time Percival slips under the covers and he is already gone when Newt wakes up.

A few days pass in a similar manner, and a week after the first fatal attack, one of his aurors gets injured protecting a civilian. The civilian returns home safely, but Auror Hayes comes in with a couple of cracked ribs and a broken arm, and is now recovering in the healing wards.

His partner had seen the flailing arms of someone being dragged away early this morning and they had both chased after the person into yet another narrow space between buildings. Hayes had gotten there first, shot spells at the assailant and prioritised the civilian’s safety. The bastard had shot at Hayes while his back was to him, and the auror had turned at the last minute, his own arm managing to prevent any damage to his organs.

Percival is furious. The rescued wizard has no relation whatsoever to the first victim, and whoever had targeted him attacked in the morning light. He’s torn between searching deeper for any connection or conclude that the attacks are targeting their kind in no particular pattern. He cannot be certain of anything after only two incidents, but he’d rather not wait until a third to determine anything. With the patrols and investigations and other cases happening simultaneously, their department is short-handed and overworked, and he’s aware he is being too relentless. He considers asking other branches if they might spare any aurors, and plans to discuss this with Seraphina.

The next day, Newt asks again to help and for a moment, Percival falters at the sight of Newt’s pleading face. Merlin, he _never_ had such dilemmas before—no one he had worked with had been so close to his heart, causing his rationality and emotions to be at war with one another. The rational side of him knows Newt to be just as capable as his aurors, if not more so with all his experiences from working alone during his travels. He has grown remarkably as a team-player over the past year, becoming an essential member of their team despite his simple title of expert consultant. The softer, weaker side of him would like to keep his mate out of danger, would never ask for such commitment from him.

But Newt is making it so very difficult. It would have been an easier to refuse if the man had only sought to share Percival’s burden, but his mate has come to care for the people of this city like they are his own and believes in what is important to Percival. Percival has seen Newt’s pain when he learned of the murdered Ms. Ankins, the deep worry etched in his face as he found out about Auror Hayes’ condition. He has seen the anger evoked within his mate at the evil being done to innocents and those who seek to protect them.

And Percival knows the weight on his shoulders as the Director of Magical Security. That he and his aurors are to give their lives to serve and protect, that he is to use all resources available to him to get the job done. It’s not the first time he has hated his position, the decision he has to make, but it’s the first time that he feels utterly selfish. He wants to protect his own family, too.

Percival closes his eyes, hides the unhappy line of his mouth behind folded hands. “I’ll think about it.”

“You know we don’t have time, Director,” Newt points out, frustration apparent in his tone. “This is just the beginning, and the next attack could happen soon. I need to be out there to be able to trace any residual magic.”

He does know, and from these two incidents alone, the criminals have shown that they have no qualms about attacking an auror as well. It could be stupidity or confidence, but either way, the threat of being caught isn’t preventing them from causing harm.

“Percival,” Newt calls, voice soft and tender.

Percival opens his eyes, sees Newt leaning over his desk and gazing at him tenderly. He brushes the back of his knuckles along Percival’s cheek, makes him swallow heavily.

“I’ll be fine, love,” he assures too easily, like Percival is worrying for nothing. “I’ve faced a lot worse than some lowly dark wizards; even faced _the_ dark wizard and survived, remember?”

He thinks Newt is trying to be encouraging, but Percival only feels worse imagining that his husband could have _died_ because of Grindelwald.

“You’re terrible at this,” Percival replies gruffly, looking away but bringing up a hand to hold Newt’s in place.

He makes a decision.

 

 

The nearby branches agree to send some reinforcements which relieves some stress for his department.

Percival changes the patrol routines and implements disguises to try and lure out the enemy. He keeps himself on rotation, and now that Newt has also joined in patrolling along with Pickett for his magic sensitivity and the swooping evil, they scarcely see one another.

Theseus writes back, thanking him for the warning and assuring that the streets of England seem safe from dark wizards for the time being. He also mentions his concerns for MACUSA and offers to help in any way he can. He says that he will visit soon and Percival doesn’t know how soon that is but he will be glad for when the man arrives to give his input and hopefully shed some light on this mess.

And at the end of the week, they attack again. What they don't account for is Newt and his swooping evil’s remarkable capturing ability, and the perpetrator is bound and disabled within seconds. Unfortunately, they are too late and lose another life to the enemy—an elderly wizard who had been a bookstore owner.

Newt disappears into his case after he returns to MACUSA and Percival goes to him after making sure the murderer is locked up for the night, knowing O’Brien will interrogate him tomorrow.

He finds Newt surrounded by the mooncalves in their habitat, lying on his side. His back is to him, and Percival sees how tense his mate is.

Percival is rather jaded to the world after experiencing the worst of human nature on a regular basis. That isn't to say he is unfeeling, no; he is driven by anger and passion, his sense of justice, but he also knows to be rational and objective. But Newt—Newt is different. He has encountered considerable evil himself, during the war, his travels, his time here at MACUSA. Yet the alpha feels deeply, grieves every time.

“The war is over, yet why do we persist in killing each other?” Newt asks suddenly, and the heavy sorrow in his voice squeezes Percival’s heart in a painful grip.

Percival sits down by him, and some of the mooncalves try to climb onto his lap making him grunt, cooing sadly. He pets the ones he can reach, holds back a sigh.

“I don’t know, love,” Percival says honestly. “It’s a question I still ask to this day.”

Newt looks at him over his shoulder, and though there are no tears, Percival sees that he weeps all the same. He shoos the mooncalves off of him and scoots closer to his mate who turns onto his back. Newt lays his head onto Percival’s lap and buries his face into his hip as soon as he’s within reach and Percival runs his fingers through the man’s hair.

They haven’t seen one another for two days and although time pressures him more than ever, Percival is glad for this short reprieve. He hums softly, a vague melody from an equally vague memory, but it seems to soothe his mate and the creatures around them. A few minutes later, he feels his mate start to lean heavily on him and Percival tells him not to fall asleep here. Newt murmurs something in response, sounding reluctant, but he goes easily when Percival helps him up. He lets Newt wrap around him as they walk to the workshop, stumbling on occasion when a creature comes by to nudge them.

Once Newt is stripped and comfortable in the temporarily spelled bed, coaxed back to sleep with a few kisses, Percival spends a little more time indulging himself—massaging away the wrinkles between Newt’s brows and touching the worrying dark circles under his eyes. He then feeds the hungry crowd that seems even more reluctant to let him go now that he and Newt are rarely in the case together. Percival would have felt silly finding himself talking to animals some years ago, but he freely does so now without qualm, apologising to each of them as he makes the rounds.

He wonders as he sits in his office, the case safely tucked under his desk and a particularly upset Pickett sitting on his shoulder, how they would fare with a child. He is certain they require just as much attention and maintenance, if not more so, than the creatures. Percival has not let himself think of Newt’s offer since the man had brought it up, but the thought comes unbidden now in the solitude and silence.

What would they do in a situation like this, with a young one to care for in the midst of pursuing dangerous lawbreakers?

Percival tries to distract himself by reviewing what happened today because that’s a topic he shouldn’t be pondering alone, especially since the very idea of it has anxiety curling in his gut. He reads about Mr. Wagner, a senior wizard who sold books for a living to magical folk and No-Majs alike. He had a wife who passed before him and two sons, one of whom he lost to the war. In spite of his tragedies, the old man has a kind face and Percival wouldn’t have minded visiting his store.

And again, there is no obvious connection between him and the late Ms. Ankins or the currently living Mr. Mondt. He supposes they were a bit more deeply entrenched in the community of No-Majs, considering their jobs and all, but none of them were aware of one another—

Percival slams his hand down on the desk, then winces as he hears Lady shriek, having forgotten about her on the sofa. She snaps wide, frightened eyes to him and Percival hopes against hope as he watches her puff up in wariness.

“Lady,” he calls softly, holding his breath as she huffs nervously. “Lady, it’s alright. That was me; it was my fault.”

She squawks and flaps her wings, and Merlin, she’s spilling over the sofa at an alarming rate. Percival stands up and approaches her slowly, ignoring how she is already thicker than his waist and pushing at his desk. He makes soft, soothing noises as he goes, maintaining eye contact, and stops when he hits a wall of her body.

“It’s just me,” he says gently, noticing with surprise when she slows her growth. “Everything is fine.”

Lady blinks, and blinks again. She chirps, then sticks out her significantly larger beak at him. Percival takes the hint and pets her.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, lets her nudge at him.

She has only grown to three-quarters his office space, and his desk and sofa are relatively intact. Percival summons the emergency container he keeps for this rare occasion and the feed bottle, then falls onto the ominously creaking sofa once his occamy is safe and happy in the pot. Pickett pats his cheek, apparently unfazed by what has just happened, and Percival heaves a sigh. He would like to fall asleep at this point but he forces his eyes open, because he’s sure he had found something earlier.

So, with another cup of coffee and a loosened shirt collar, Percival is back at his desk with a determination not to slam it anymore. And after a brief internal struggle, he silently apologises to Newt before removing his shoes and using the resilient suitcase as a much-needed footrest.

“Please don’t tell him, Pickett,” Percival mutters embarrassedly even though the bowtruckle can’t see anything.

It’s a bit of a stretch, he admits, looking through the case files again and comparing them with each other. What he had discovered earlier is the only loose connection between them, and Percival remembers something about a registry of sorts here at MACUSA for wizards and witches who wish to cater to No-Majs because they would need to be watched closely.

But he would have to save that for the morning because it’s late and he’s running on fumes and the last bitter drop of coffee is no longer working. Percival gathers the files and writes himself a note so he knows where to resume in the morning, then steps outside his office for a stretch. He notes a handful of aurors either at their desks or discussing something together and walks over to ask how they are doing, He dismisses them for the night if the work isn’t anything urgent, especially the ones who are working on the big case with the exception of those who are on patrol duty. There is nothing more they can do for the moment until they question the perpetrator tomorrow. Some of them give him funny looks as they leave for some reason, but he’s too tired to know what to make of it.

“What about you, sir?” Mathews asks before yawning widely.

Her yawn is contagious and Percival can’t quite suppress one of his own, then catches both her and Fontaine looking at him with amusement. He clears his throat pointedly but it just makes them grin, much to his confusion, until he realises that Pickett is asleep tucked up against his neck and is protesting his movements.

“Yes, well, I’ll be getting some sleep in the office so wake me if I’m needed,” he replies quietly. “Let the returning team know to head straight home after their shift is over.”

“I hope we’ll have better luck tomorrow,” Fontaine sighs, pushing up his glasses. “By the way, what happened to your shoes?”

And he realises then why everyone had been looking at him weird, and why some of them had startled badly when he had approached them. Percival tries to suppress a flush, but his heated cheeks tell him how unsuccessful he is. He wants to leave quickly without responding, but bids his aurors a good night first. Once back in his office, Percival locks the door and spells it to let in anyone in the department who has an emergency, then climbs into the suitcase with both sleeping creatures.

To his surprise, Newt is awake and watching him come down with wide, blank eyes. Percival goes to him, worried, and tentatively touches his knee, calls his name. Newt doesn’t reply verbally, but he reaches out to Percival, grips onto his shirt.

“Bad dream?” Percival guesses as he lies down on the bed after setting Pickett and Lady down gently, keeping his eyes on his husband.

Newt curls into him and tucks his head against Percival’s neck before scenting him. Percival curls around his mate in return, wraps an arm around his shoulders and presses a kiss to the crown of his head. He barely manages to make mental notes about what needs to be done in the morning as Newt’s scent and warmth drag him down mercilessly into sleep.

The last thing he remembers is a soft mouth and kisses to his throat.

 

 

No one bothers Percival until morning, and he starts his day with a scourgifying spell and changing into the spare outfit he keeps in Newt’s case. He waits until Newt is up as well, feeling a little guilty about having left his mate to wake alone this past month. They spend a few minutes breathing each other in, and Percival allows Newt to scent-mark him when he asks. Then they part ways, Percival going back to his office and Newt off for the morning rounds.

The first thing he does is hastily move the case to the side of his desk after cleaning the top of it. Afterwards, he asks Ms. Kett to send a request to the department for records and registries for permission to acquire a copy of the list. It arrives at his office in less than an hour.

The list specific to New York City is a short one, two pages long and less than fifty names. The registry of witches and wizards who chose to work in the heart of the No-Maj community came to be when MACUSA had been going through some changes over the last few decades regarding its laws and policies on the No-Maj. Rappaport’s Law remains essentially the same, but since the wizards and witches of America had been forced to not only hide but try and blend with the No-Maj, the conflict between the two different ways of living had raised the issue of how to exactly define fraternization in their situation. And in light of the new laws which gives some leeway while still prohibiting marriage and any risk of exposure, some had considered it easier to simply live as one of them.

Not everyone has the same reasons for applying for this specific business or work permit. Some are maintaining family traditions from previous generations who first applied, and others have become enamoured with the culture and arts and _sciences_ of the No-Majs and wished to partake in those practices. Percival somewhat understands; he has enjoyed and indulged in stories written by talented No-Maj writers, both as a child and as an adult, and has marveled at their imagination despite not having an ounce of magic in their reality.

It takes a special kind of dedication to retain these permits since they need to subject themselves to yearly security checks and the occasional monitoring. From what he knows, in all of his time here at MACUSA, everyone has been trustworthy.

As he reads through the list, he finds three familiar names. Sure enough, Ms. Ankins the kindergarten teacher, Mr. Mondt the toymaker, and Mr. Wagner the bookstore owner are on it. The order in which they were targeted doesn't correspond with the list, which makes it harder to predict who might be next if indeed this is their connection.

Percival looks at the clock and figures O’Brien should be heading down to the cells soon. They usually make the suspect wait a while before questioning them but the current situation does not allow for much leisure. He plans to go with the auror and watch the interrogation so he can get all information first-hand. He has hope that this one will have something useful since they wouldn't be using just anyone for covert killing assignments, and if they need a little more incentive to confess, Percival won't mind stepping in.

As he's getting ready to leave, Newt emerges from the case, stretching and yawning. He blinks sleepily at Percival, hair more of a mess than usual, tie askew.

“What are you up to now, Percy?”

It’s Percival’s turn to blink, brows furrowing. “Percy.”

Newt stares blankly for a moment before his eyes widen, cheeks reddening. “Oh, I’m sorry, that just came out of nowhere, didn’t it. I meant to say ‘Percival’ but—um, I’m not quite fully awake and you know sometimes I don’t say things right. Or even the whole word, it seems. Why don’t we—”

“Newt,” Percival interrupts gently, amused by his husband’s babbling. “It’s fine; there’s no reason for you to get worked up.”

When Newt eyes him doubtfully, Percival continues, “It makes sense, actually. I've calling you by a shortened version of your name all this time, so I suppose it's fair.” He shrugs slightly. “I didn't know my name was a mouthful for you in the mornings; you should have said something earlier.”

The last bit is said teasingly, and Percival enjoys Newt’s flustered attempts at protesting. Truth be told, Percival had thought he heard Newt calling him ‘Percy’ a few times, but it was mumbled while the man was asleep and he wouldn’t think much of it afterwards.

Newt quiets when he sees Percival smiling, and with a hopeful look, he says, “Percy.”

“Yes, Newt?” Percival replies.

And Newt smiles, too, shy but extremely pleased, and Percival feels that rush of contentment he gets when smells his alpha in such a state. He knows that Newt can tell from his scent as well, and his husband sits himself on Percival’s desk before leaning down to kiss him.

They share no more words, only sighs and soft sounds of pleasure as they press their lips together again and again.

“Alright,” Percival mumbles against Newt’s lips after the third kiss when his mate wraps a large, rough hand around his nape. “That's enough for now.”

“Okay,” Newt says, pulling away but keeping his hand in place to tickle at the short hairs on the back of his neck.

Percival shivers at the pleasant sensation, comfortable enough to purr and lean into the touch. He absently thinks about asking for a massage when this is all over. When Newt lets go reluctantly, Percival inwardly mourns the loss as well, straightening in his chair.

Now that Percival is able to get a good look, he sees how worn down his mate seems and is sorry for having dragged him into this, no matter that Newt chose to become involved. This aspect of Percival’s job yields no joy whatsoever and while he doesn’t regret binding his mate to himself, he wonders occasionally if Newt wouldn’t rather be travelling the world again. Percival would gladly let him go as long as he remembers to come back.

He files that away for the time being, adding to the pile of subjects to discuss with his husband later on.

“I’ll be with O’Brien for the morning in the interrogation rooms,” Percival informs him. “You can go take a walk, get some fresh air if you wish. I recommend that you do, actually.”

“What about...?” Newt waves vaguely towards the door, implying work needing to be done.

“We’re fine for now; go take a break, sweetheart,” Percival assures as he stands up.

Newt blushes prettily at the rare endearment from him, and Percival has missed this, having the time to freely be affectionate with one another. Percival had discovered shortly after their marriage that he likes to surprise his husband with small, unexpected gestures like Newt has done for him, and he takes secret pleasure in making him blush adorably. Merlin, he really loves this man.

“I love you,” Percival says out loud, and kisses Newt chastely one last time before fixing his coat lapels and straightening the lines of his outfit. “Take care of yourself.”

He leaves his mate gaping with a reminder to lock his suitcase properly.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm totally not where I had wanted to be and you might note the chapter count has changed again. That's my final estimate so hopefully it'll stay that way.
> 
> This chapter was a difficult one to write, not only being in Percival's head but trying to show the plausibility of their issues. I can't say for certain if it was expressed correctly but I wrote and then re-wrote stuff, did my best. I'm amazed I'm still going at this?? Even though it's really challenging at times?? Idk, I don't mean to jinx myself or anything.
> 
> Anyway, enjoy!

Percival watches from outside the way O’Brien circles the bound wizard like a wampus on the prowl, the criminal wary of his intimidating bulk and sharp gaze. He starts with the simple questions, such as name and occupation, what he had been doing before his capture, so on and so forth. They both note the lies that fall smoothly from his tongue, the man deliberately relaxing himself and blinking slowly. He maintains a brash, arrogant persona, befitting of a typical alpha male.

“So, why did you kill him?” O’Brien asks indifferently, leaning against the wall next to the man and looking around as if bored.

The bastard who calls himself Rick shrugs. “Because I wanted to.”

“I didn’t know trash like you had any desires apart from the wishes of your asshole leader.”

The man’s smirk freezes for a moment before he snorts, but it gives much of him away. “I don't know what you’re taking about.”

It’s O’Brien’s turn to snort. “Right, you never do. Sometimes I wonder if guys like you know anything at all.”

“More than you, I reckon,” ‘Rick’ drawls, leaning back in his seat to make himself comfortable. “Can’t imagine you having much of a brain to support all those useless muscles.”

Percival sighs. Why is it that alphas always assume O’Brien’s stature is an indication of a lack of smarts as if it’s compensation? He assumes as well that they must be projecting their insecurities. But he really doesn’t have time for this; he catches O’Brien’s glance towards him through the one-way window and they know that intimidation and pushing will be the long way around to get information.

“Do you want to test how useless they really are?” O’Brien returns, grinning like a shark at the slight paling of the man’s face.

“You—you can’t do that,” the wizard stutters, clearly not having expected an actual physical punishment.

“Death is imminent for you, anyway, so what does it matter?” is O’Brien’s reply. “No one here except you and me, you poor bastard, and I have free reign.”

That makes the man clam up, press his lips together tightly and stare down at the table. There is determination warring with fear on his features, and Percival sighs again. He just has to be one of those stubborn ones who feels justified in their work and take utmost pride in their so-called duty. Percival thinks those qualities must have been used against him, easily manipulated with sweetly-worded ideas about ridding the world of traitors to their kind in order to create a better place for themselves. It makes him sick, having heard those despicable ideals repeatedly from the dead instigator himself.

He walks over to the door and knocks twice before entering. Both men turn to him, and he shares a look with O’Brien before sitting himself across the table from their captive.

Some colour returns to the man’s face and the fear starts to give way to the earlier cocksure attitude. He’s already underestimating Percival because of his omega scent, the fool.

“Well, if it isn’t the one that got away,” he says mockingly, obvious in his sniffing. “Already found yourself a new alpha? You should be ashamed, drifting easily from one to another like a whore.”

Percival raises a brow, hears O’Brien shuffling next to them. “Did I, now? I can’t say I’m aware of ever having more than one.”

His casual dismissal sparks some anger, and it’s rather telling that the man must be a fanatic as well as a follower.

“He chose you, and you should’ve been grateful for that privilege,” ‘Rick’ growls.

“He wasn’t my type,” Percival says, shrugging. “It must bother you that he kept an outsider, an omega like me so close while you who served so faithfully never even had a glimpse of a single hair on his head. That I tossed him out like the trash he is.”

It bothers ‘Rick’ very much, apparently, judging by the roar of rage and profanities snarled in-between incoherent strings of words. After that, it’s a simple matter of provoking him with blows to his ego and they leave him seething in the room after he unknowingly spouts pertinent information. He reveals two different names, likely his contacts and partners or superiors, and doesn’t confirm whether the organisation is working off of a list similar to what MACUSA has. And it turns out that ‘Rick’ is a fake name he made for himself because he hates his actual name.

“Now I’m curious,” muses O’Brien as they head back up. “It must be something ridiculous, right?”

Percival is more concerned about how to protect nearly fifty people when they have no way of knowing who the next target might be, if the criminals are indeed targeting the ones on their list. Rick had probably only been following orders, which makes Percival wonder how many levels there are to this group.

“So, how is Newt doing?”

Startled out of his thoughts, Percival looks towards O’Brien, confused. “Excuse me?”

“I mean, this isn’t really his kind of thing, right?” O’Brien says. “The kid must be having a hard time.”

He doesn’t bother pointing out that O’Brien is not that much older than his husband because he’s busy fighting against a surge of guilt. Percival would like for Newt to be away from all this and he would like to stop having to pause every so often to think of him and his whereabouts and condition. His mate has been a great asset to the team, but Percival worries and this divide in his focus on top of his fatigue increases his inefficiency which is the last thing he needs right now. And at this point, it’s too late to ask Newt to step down.

“I—don’t know,” he says truthfully, looking away, because they haven’t talked much these last few weeks and Percival can only gauge from the brief glimpses he gets from his husband.

They’ve only been discussing the case and when they finally do have time together, they’re too exhausted to do much more than eat or sleep. Mercy Lewis, he must be a neglectful mate in Newt’s eyes; in anyone’s eyes, in fact. Newt is still mostly taking care of the creatures, making sure the both of them eat, cooking, actually _going home_ —and truly, it’s as if their roles are switched. Is this why that one alpha had been so angry when Percival had wanted to remain an auror, to build his career? Even though he isn’t the traditional image of an omega, there should only be so much that he ask his alpha to compromise for him.

In rare moments, Percival has caught this look on Newt's face, something deeply tired and deeply longing and he would start towards his husband only to be swept away by someone needing his attention or his own need to concentrate on what’s in his hands. His heart clenches now in reminder of his inadequacy.

How do others do this? Is there a reason that it’s always the alpha who is the one to maintain a job after mating? Does biology and nature play a role in deciding that? Surely, Newt must be angry with him as well, to be forced to take care of his working omega. And now, Percival is thoroughly distracted from the case once again and he wants to scream in frustration.

“Boss?”

“What should I do?” Percival asks abruptly, turning back to the man. “I must be a terrible excuse for a husband, never mind an omega. I don’t—”

And he stop just as abruptly as they reach the elevators, and Percival is mortified as he informs the elf of which floor. That he is venting to his subordinate, something he couldn’t have even imagined a couple years ago. When O’Brien glances at him uncertainly, he shakes his head.

They reach his office and Percival doesn’t immediately sit down, opting to stand against his desk for now. O’Brien stops in front of him, positioned as if he’s about to give a report, and he seems to be waiting for Percival to give him permission to continue. And yet again, he wishes he didn’t have to be the one making decisions.

“I know he’s unhappy with me,” Percival blurts out, then bites on his tongue shamefully, tries to stop himself from being unprofessional. “And I don’t want your sympathy, O’Brien; what were you going to say?”

The auror appears sheepish and it’s oddly fitting on his strong face.

“It’s not that he’s unhappy with you,” the man says surprisingly gently, and that makes it so much worse. “Rather, he’s unhappy _for_ you, because he understands this is who you are and he wants to be supportive. But you need to see that for yourself, how he’s trying.”

“Is that what he told you?” Percival asks, closing his eyes.

“No, but it was kind of obvious,” he hears O’Brien say.

Obvious to everyone but Percival, that is.

“I’ve been rather busy,” he says, and it sounds weak even to his own ears.

“You could also try not doing everything by yourself.”

Percival opens his eyes in surprise, not having heard Abernathy come in. She’s followed by the rest of his Senior Aurors, and he tenses up in defense, grips the edge of his desk to keep himself still.

“What is going on?” Percival enquires, projecting an outward calm.

“Abernathy is right, sir,” Fontaine says, stepping forward. “We know the significance of this case to you but I implore that you give us a chance as well.”

“You aren’t alone in this, Director,” Johnson adds quietly. “We want to get those despicable bastards as much as you do.”

He stares, bewildered, then frowns. “I—”

“We’ve been meaning to talk to you for a while about this,” Abernathy boldly interrupts, “how you tend to shoulder everything the more difficult it gets when it should be the opposite.”

“Excuse me?”

“We don’t mean any offense, boss; no one doubts your authority, honest,” says Mathews, voice gentle but eyes hard. “But this department isn’t a one-man team with the rest of us picking up pieces of yourself that you leave behind. We’ve done enough of that.”

Percival is shocked, to say the least, and he remains unresponsive as he tries to find the appropriate words while processing theirs.

“Like we said, it has been a problem but you used to be difficult to approach. Not that that is an excuse, of course.” Fontaine sighs, but he’s smiling. “It may be a bit late, but we are officially requesting to be part of the core investigation team for this case.”

No one says anything after that, and his aurors all look straight at him, assessing his reaction. His mind runs over the words he has just heard and tries not to misinterpret them, even though his thoughts first automatically draw conclusions that they’re questioning his competence as a Director, that revealing his struggles with this case is showing him to be lesser, somehow. Is that what he has been doing all this time, how he has been viewed?

It's hard to see immediately what they’re saying since this is how he has worked for the past few years as a Director. He had always wanted to do the work himself, not become one of those authorities who just sit at their desks and wait for everything to be done for them. At first, it had been out of a desire to prove himself so that no one would doubt his capabilities even though he was the only one who knew of his nature; as if somehow failing at his job would imply that he is the omega society knows and expects. Then, it had grown beyond that to a genuine desire to protect the city and its people, to a love for his country and their suffering wizardfolk, knowing that he was making a difference.

And now... He still has that same heart for his city, for justice, but after Grindelwald and meeting Newt, he has slowly been learning to let go of his tight control on every situation he comes across. His life has been made easier for it, and he can genuinely say that his work is enjoyable at times now that there is a certain level of partnership between him and his subordinates. Yet, this case has been completely devoid of that partnership, he suddenly realises. The idea of Grindelwald’s influence in his city has consumed him, choked the life out of his very being as—...

Perhaps he has been seeking vengeance, or to eradicate his fear of him. It isn’t something he can describe clearly as a singular motive, but the matter of fact is he has been trying to put a dent in a stone wall with his own fists of flesh and it has drained him; that stone wall then became an enclosure around his heart which manifested in his behaviours.

“Sir?”

Percival is dragged out of his thoughts and his eyes catch his aurors’ nervous expressions as they firmly stand their ground. They remain a respectful distance from him and it hits him once again how privileged he is to have these men and women who don’t care about what he is, but rather care about _who_ he is.

“So, what you’re saying is...” Percival starts slowly, eyeing each of them, “you think I’m working too hard. Alone. And you decided to stage an intervention.”

“Of sorts, basically,” Johnson confirms.

Fontaine speaks again. “We trust you, sir, and that you give us your trust at all in return is more than we can ask especially after—well, after Grindelwald. But we still ask you to entrust this case to us. All of us. It wasn’t easy watching you close yourself from everyone again, including your mate.”

Percival swallows at the mention of Newt and looks away briefly, nodding in acknowledgement. “Did Newt put you up to this?”

The aurors share a look at that, and O’Brien hesitantly answers, “Actually, the funny thing is we asked him to talk to you first and thought he’d be the one to convince you since he’s your mate and all.”

Those words are like a hex to his gut as he remembers Newt trying to talk to him, using similar words about not being alone, but somehow his mate had ended up being involved in this instead, spending miserable nights here, facing evil and death and the darkness of humanity—of Percival.

He clears his throat after a moment of silence, then says, “Thank you all for your concern. I will—Ah, rather, if you could help O’Brien find the people whose names were extracted earlier.”

“Yes, sir,” they reply, appearing relieved.

“So, this seems to be the perfect time for a group hug—”

“ _No_ , O’Brien,” Mathews interjects and grabs him by the arm before nodding at Percival and dragging him away.

The rest stand awkwardly for moment, then nod at him as well and see themselves out the door. Then he is left alone with only his thoughts for company.

Percival walks over to the sofa and slumps down on it, leans his head back against the wall. He’s tired all of a sudden, and he misses his mate. He doesn’t want to be here, would rather be at home and in bed with Newt, sharing warmth and scents and kisses. Percival feels his eyes sting, and it’s with another wave of guilt that he realises he has been wanting Newt only when it was convenient for him. But his mate is not supposed to be for his convenience, and he laughs bitterly as he drags a hand over his face.

From the looks of it, he is neither a good Director, nor a good husband.

His traitor of a mind recalls every moment he has been short with his alpha, and how Newt had done nothing each time. Percival tries not to be upset about that, tries not to wonder whether he would’ve listened if Newt had said something one more time or if he had expressed some kind of anger. But what’s done is done, and there is no use lingering on ‘what if’s. When Newt returns, Percival will apologise and ask for forgiveness, but if Newt needs some time away from him, he will allow that as well.

Despite what everyone has told him, in this office that carries not even a hint of Newt’s scent, it’s ironic that he feels more alone than ever.

He receives a summons from the President as he thinks about going down into the suitcase and waiting there until Newt come back, and he bites back a sigh. Percival takes a few minutes to gather himself, then gathers his files before heading out. He asks Ms. Kett to let Newt know where he will be should his mate come looking for him and that the office will be locked for the time being.

When Seraphina eyes him dubiously as he enters her office, it’s almost the last straw. He opens his mouth to tell her off but she beats him to it.

“If you’re planning to say that you’re fine or to mind my own business, Percival, then you can shut that mouth of yours right now.”

Percival gapes at his friend then flushes, and he wisely says nothing as he sits down in front of her. Her eyes roam over him and he grits his teeth, knowing he must be a right mess. He places the files on her desk, waits.

“You haven’t shaved in a while,” she notes casually.

Percival just glares.

“I had thought some things would be different now that you’re mated,” she continues, apparently exasperated.

“What are you trying to say, Sera?” he mutters tiredly. “That I’m royally screwing up at both my job and marriage? I’ve been told that in no uncertain terms already, thank you.”

Seraphina arches a brow at him, unimpressed. “The fact that you are still working yourself to death tells me Newt isn’t—”

“Newt is his usual, wonderful self,” he cuts in, annoyed. “and _this_ is not his fault, it’s mine. So don’t you dare blame him, don’t say anything to him. I—”

Then Percival feels himself run out of steam, slumps back into the chair. Merlin, it’s like a loose thread that had been hanging out is finally being pulled and he’s unravelling quickly, barely managing to hold the contents of himself together. Nothing is going right and everything is complicated all of a sudden.

“No one’s blaming anyone, Percy,” Seraphina says quietly, her face soft. “You’ve been mated less than half a year and you both are trying to make room within yourselves for the growing intimacy between you. It’s only natural that you face some opposition as you reorganise your life to fit the other person.”

He stares at his friend, surprised, and Seraphina only shakes her head.

“It’s especially challenging for you because you had the mindset that you would stay unmated for the rest of your days and it’s taking some time to be convinced of what you had believed for many years now. As harsh as this may sound, it’s easier for you to forget about Newt and act as if he isn’t there when you immerse yourself into the job.”

Percival can’t suppress the flinch at her blunt words and the more he listens, he feels wounded, flayed open. He isn’t sure if he had known these things himself before, but it hurts to hear the brutal reality of it nonetheless. And something about the way she had said it implies she has known for a while.

“How long have you waited to tell me this?” Percival asks, glancing down at his hands that have twisted together sometime during this conversation.

“I had hoped I wouldn’t have to,” Seraphina sighs. “You seemed to be adjusting well enough at first, but I can’t say I’m surprised this happened. I just want you to know that doing things differently than before doesn’t diminish you as a Director in any way, especially now that you’re mated.”

“But then something like this case that requires everything that we have—”

“There will always be exceptions, of course,” she cuts in smoothly. “There will be times when you don’t have the leisure to take a step back and assess whether you can balance your personal and professional life, and when one will take precedent over the other. That’s fine; you’ll figure it out together. But that’s only if you stay together.”

When Percival looks up, there is compassion in her gaze and he clears his throat to get rid of the sudden lump in it.

“You sounds like my mother,” he says, and smiles a little at the glare he receives. “Since when are you such an expert on my relationship? Or any for that matter.”

“I’ve had my fair share of experiences, Director,” Seraphina replies coolly but with a slight twitch on her lips. “And I’m sure your mate has told you that I’m the final authority on all things you, in the absence of your mother.”

Percival glares at her in return, then frowns. “She would probably kill me if she hears about this.”

“Nonsense, she wouldn’t do such a thing. It’d be more of a scolding and a slap to your head.”

Percival snorts, shakes his head. “If we’re quite done here, I’d like to update you on the progress we are making.”

“Please, enlighten me,” she says, folding her hands and sitting back regally.

And before he starts, he mutters a quiet, “Thank you, Sera.”

 

 

It’s only lunch time and Percival is ready to go home. He has gone through an emotionally taxing morning filled with revelation and introspection and though his heart feels lighter than it has since this whole problem started, he’d like to take a nap. But as is usual with life, he doesn’t always get what he wants.

Percival gathers the Senior Aurors into one of the smaller meeting rooms and they share lunch as he lays out his theories about the organisation’s intentions and why these specific people have been targeted. He suspects that the murders are orders from the higher-ups if not the leaders themselves, and the petty robberies, illegal businesses, and kidnappings have been a cover for possibly scoping out their targets. He had known something was strange when the kidnapped people had all returned home a few days later, and Johnson points out that some are connected to the current victims.

They cross-reference previous cases and reported kidnappings which date further back than they had initially thought, because some had been found the same day. With that and marking locations of certain incidents on a map, it’s almost enough to predict who may be next. They manage to narrow down the potentials, and Percival orders for them to be closely watched.

“They must know something about the list; it’s too much of a coincidence not to be,” Percival muses, “but it’s as if they’re having to rediscover who those people might be”.

“Do you think Grindelwald saw the list while he was here?” Mathews asks. “And then mentioned it in passing to one of his followers or planned to do something with it himself, but we caught him before anything happened.”

It’s a possibility, Percvial admits. It would have been terribly easy to expose their kind using witches and wizards who are in close proximity to No-Majs; subtle yet significant. Either side could have reacted negatively, probably leading to drastic measures. He doesn’t know if they were lucky that Grindelwald had been too focused on finding Credence at the time, the poor child, but now someone is back to supposedly finish the job.

And Percival will prevent it at all costs.

Abernathy reports that they may have something on the names by the end of the week and they finish the meeting with renewed hope and confidence. Percival thanks them for their hard work and sends off a summary of what they discussed to the President, also informing her that he will send back the other aurors to their respective branches next week.

He’s the last one to leave the meeting room, checking over everything one last time before gathering his copy of all relevant information. Just as he steps out, he sees his mate entering the large room with Tina, appearing to be in better spirits, and Percival’s stomach rolls with nerves while his heart clenches in relief. He slowly makes his way towards them, legs stiff for some reason, and Newt spots him. His husband smiles widely at him as he rushes over, Tina following behind at a more leisurely pace.

“Tina,” he greets when he reaches them, nodding at her. “I’d like to borrow him for a while, if you don’t mind.”

“Oh, of course, Director!” she replies, nodding in return. “He’s all yours.”

Newt’s smile has turned confused, but he follows easily when Percival grasps his hand and pulls him along. He marches them straight to his office, locks the door again, and sits Newt down on the sofa after tossing the files onto his desk.

Then he draws blank. He had many things he wanted to say to his mate, but the words abandon him as they stare at one another, Newt still smiling and Percival struggling with shame and love and anxiety twisting in his chest.

So, he says the first thing that comes to mind. “I’m sorry.”

The smile drops and Newt furrows his brows, and then Percival can’t stop.

“I’m sorry. I—I must have hurt you terribly these past weeks with the way I behaved. It has come to my attention that how I’ve been at work isn’t conducive to a mated life, and I’ve not given you the proper respect you deserve as my husband.”

“Percy, I don’t—” Newt stops, eyes narrowed doubtfully. “Where is this coming from?”

Percival bites back a frustrated noise, because he knows Newt is confused since his mate has never told him anything of the sort. “I know you’ve been unhappy, and not only did I refuse to acknowledge that, I used you for my own convenience.”

“That’s not true,” Newt denies, shaking his head. “I volunteered to help, remember? I wanted to support you somehow and I’m glad I was able to—”

“It’s not just that,” Percival insists. “I only wanted you when I felt like having you, disregarding your feelings over all this—”

“ _Stop_ ,” and Percival does, shocked by the vehemence in Newt’s voice. “Just—stop, Percival. I wasn’t—I wasn’t...”

To Percival’s horror, tears suddenly spill over Newt’s eyes and down his cheeks, and Percival kneels before him as the man looks away, covering his face.

“Newt,” he calls softly, one hand going to Newt’s knee and the other grasping his arm.

“I was okay,” Newt says tightly, voice wet. “I was okay; I understood.”

Merlin, why do they end up like this again and again, as if it’s a monthly routine for them to hit a snag and let it fester until someone breaks. Percival would wager that no other pair has broken the same promise over and over in such a short span of time, and wonders if it has something to do with resisting change, like Seraphina had told him. He supposes it’s a good thing that Newt isn’t a proficient liar, at least.

“Why didn’t you say anything, Newt?” Percival asks.

When Newt looks at him again, it’s with heartbreakingly dejected eyes and Percival wipes away some of the wetness, though it can’t erase the pain he has caused.

“It would’ve been utterly selfish of me,” Newt sniffs. “There are people dying out there and for me to want to avoid it, to take you away from those who need you is...”

Percival nods because he sort of gets it and he’s realising that there is no right answer to this situation. Though late, it’s good that they’re talking about it and he sees why Newt may have hesitated. He believes Newt had been genuine in his intentions to help, but that doesn’t mean he didn’t have difficulties as his own needs went unfulfilled.

“I’m sorry, love,” Percival repeats, and hushes Newt’s protests. “This is my fault, as inevitable as it was. I should have been a little less selfish myself, but hopefully we’ve learned something from this.”

He then draws his alpha to him, kisses his cheek that is warm from crying, and is startled when Newt pulls him up onto his lap instead. His mate deftly loosens Percival’s tie and the top of his shirt before burying his face into the junction of shoulder and neck, breathing deeply. Percival wraps his arms around Newt and holds him.

“When this is over, there’s something we need to talk about,” he says gently, and rubs a hand in slow circles on his alpha’s back when he tenses. “It’s nothing bad, I promise.”

Though he can’t say that his promises are worth much these days within the context of their relationship, he thinks wryly.

Newt lifts his head to ask silently, and Percival lowers his in answer, sighing as their lips meet and the taste of him fills his senses. And then his mate pulls back, attempts a weak smile.

“Your beard scratches,” Newt laughs softly, and it’s like music to Percival’s ears.

“I’m in desperate need of a shave, aren’t I,” Percival mutters sheepishly.

Fingers reach up and tickle at the hairs on his face, run over his chin, jaw and down his neck. “I don’t know, I might like it.”

Percival huffs but bares his throat for his alpha, letting him touch freely. They spend the next few minutes like that, reacquainting themselves with the simple physical intimacy they had been missing. Newt’s touches are possessive in a way that is almost therapeutic, and he soon has Percival purring, melting into the man’s arms.

“I don’t know why,” Newt says as Percival blinks drowsily with his head on Newt’s shoulder. “I keep wanting more and more from you—of you. And there are times when I—my alpha feels threatened that you are being taken away, even if it’s only work. I think it became worse after our mating and as if testing me, you were encountering one dangerous situation after another. So I did everything I could to keep you in my sights short of making you stay home.

“And then that old man died in front of me, and Merlin, it was terrible. I felt the last of his breath leave him and I truly understood in that moment why you were driven to do this; but at the same time, it was frightening because what if—what if...”

Percival feels Newt’s arms tightening around him, and he hears what Newt isn’t saying. He hadn’t imagined Newt would see him in the victim’s place.

“I can’t tell how much of this is me, and how much of it is my instinct; maybe they are one in the same,” his mate concludes.

“I’m far from defenseless, Newt,” Percival reassures, lifting his head to nose at Newt’s jaw.

“I know,” Newt mutters. “You’re amazingly strong, to be doing this day after day for years. But I think knowing it in my head doesn’t matter. It’s rather irrational of me, but...”

He stops, breathes, and Percival hums in acknowledgment. He is slowly learning himself that sometimes any kind of logic and thinking and knowledge can be useless when it comes to matters of the heart.

“I didn’t think being a newlywed of all things would be this challenging,” Percival thinks aloud. “Or perhaps it’s us. Maybe we’re too old and full of issues.”

“I’m not _that_ old,” Newt says lightly, and Percival pulls back to glare at him.

“Did you just—”

“Hm?” his husband blinks a little too innocently.

They stare at each other, then Percival leans in, experimentally mouths at the place he had been nosing and suppresses a smile when he hears his mate giggle.

“Okay, that stings a little—ow!”

He draws back from where he bit Newt on the side of his neck, looking up into shocked but appreciative eyes.

“I’m going to get you for that,” Newt warns, but his smile belies the seriousness of his tone.

“Not above the collar—Newt!”

Percival flails a little when Newt tips him back until he’s lying flat on the sofa and his husband climbs over him. Under an unexpectedly intense gaze, he remembers how unkempt he is right now and turns away self-consciously. He swallows when a large hand presses down gently on his chest, fingers scratching lightly at the exposed skin over his collarbone.

“Well, there are other aspects of being newlyweds that we’re rather good at, I think,” Newt remarks casually.

He brings up his other hand and brushes a thumb across Percival’s lips, making him shudder.

“I can’t believe you said that without an ounce of shame,” he mumbles embarrassedly, feeling himself flush.

“Why would I be ashamed of saying that we’re sexually attracted to one another—”

“ _Merlin_ , Newt, shut _up_ ,” Percival groans and closes his eyes.

“Was that an invitation, Percy?” he hears his mate ask cheekily, the hand on his chest slowly moving down and under the shirt.

And some obscure part of Percival wishes he could say yes—in the middle of the day, in his office, in a building that is filled with people who can come in at any time—but that’s beyond unprofessional and completely inappropriate. He dismisses his brief second of insanity and before he can say anything, Newt’s weight lifts off of him and he bites back a whine at the loss of his warmth and hands. Percival opens his eyes to see his mate crouched on the floor next to the couch, gazing at him with such potent desire that it makes his breath catch for a moment.

“When this is over, we can take a day off because you deserve it,” Newt says, quiet and low. “We’ll talk about whatever it is you mentioned. Then, if you are agreeable, I’m going to take you, everything that you are willing to give me and more because I’m rather greedy when it comes to you. And I’ll give you just as much of myself in return.”

Well, that has to be the most poetic proposition for sexual relations Percival has ever heard and despite his own want curling hot in his belly, he laughs softly.

“I might be agreeable to that, Mr. Graves-Scamander,” he answers a little hoarsely.

Newt’s face softens as fondness takes over and he leans in for a kiss which Percival gladly accepts. He breathes in the scent of his alpha and the drowsiness from earlier slowly returns as the tension between them dissipates. When they part, it must show on his face because Newt frowns.

“It seems to me like you need a nap,” he says.

Percival blinks, noting absently that it’s getting harder to keep his eyes open. “A little one, perhaps. Had a busy morning.”

“Do you have any other schedules for the afternoon? I can ask Juniper to cancel them if they’re not important.”

“No, I should be fine, but—” and Percival can’t hold back a yawn so he lets it out before continuing, “—but if the Senior Aurors need me for something about the murder cases, wake me.”

"Oh, alright,” Newt sighs. “I was hoping I could join you, actually.”

That makes Percival pause. “Then why don’t you inform Ms. Kett to wake us up?”

“Really?” Newt asks, blinking wide.

“You can spell the couch,” Percival almost slurs.

“Alright then, I’ll be back shortly,” Newt repsonds excitedly, and he leaves after one last peck.

But Percival falls asleep before Newt comes back, and he dreams of travelling the world with his alpha.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the absence! I had a super-long week at work that was rather stressful and didn't leave me much time or energy to write. On top of that, this one was difficult in terms of pacing and direction, and I was rather distracted because of a new story idea.
> 
> So either good or bad news is that I will be taking a break from this 'verse once this part is finished to start writing this other idea that has been brewing in my mind. I'm already kind of excited for it.
> 
> Thank you to all the readers who are still enjoying this!

Once Percival starts intentionally collaborating with his Senior Aurors, he feels as though he has some room to breathe at last. Just as he has been told, no one criticizes that he isn’t able to do all the investigations on his own; if anything, they are eager to be working alongside him. During the many hours they spend together, Percival learns more about his aurors than he ever has before, including information that he really didn't need to know.

Abernathy has a habit of biting at the tip of her writing instrument or wand as she works and he worries that she may jinx herself one day if it already hasn’t happened, but she guarantees that it hasn’t and it never will. Johnson is a wonderful singer who doesn’t hesitate to share his talent with them when Percival is curious, and learns that he used to sing at small pubs as a part-time job when he was younger. Percival thinks about recommending him for the next ball.

O’Brien tells him that he once had dreams to become an actor but no one wanted him at the time so he is now living vicariously through one of his younger brothers who is studying for theatrical performances. Mathews cares about her appearance as much as Percival does and at one point when they are alone they talk about their favourite stores and share fashion tips. She suggests that he come into work one day with his hair loose and laughs at his scandalized face.

And although Percival had known that Fontaine was married with children, he only learns recently that their names are Minerva, Clement, and Theodore. When he apologises for not having the decency to have asked before, Fontaine graciously waves it away and warns him that he may regret asking about them as he pulls out a photo of his family and points out each one. They are beautiful, Percival notes, just like their parents, and he doesn’t realise he’s smiling softly at the picture until the chatter stops, and he looks up to see his aurors staring at him with varying degrees of disbelief and wonder.

Percival clears his throat self-consciously, pulling up his shoulders. “What is it? You've never seen me smiling before?”

“Well, sir, not like _that_ —” and then there’s a sharp intake of breath before Johnson grimaces in pain.

“There is nothing wrong with any of your smiles, sir,” says Abernathy who is sitting next to him.

As if that helps, Percival thinks wryly, and raises a sceptical brow. But before he can ask for their honest opinions, Newt shows up with food and his occamy and then everyone is busy fighting over the choices available after thanking him. Percival is content to watch while petting Lady and distracting her from eyeing what isn’t good for her.

“You really didn’t have to, Newt,” Percival says, turning to his husband. “I’ll do it next time.”

“Nonsense,” Newt replies easily, then grins. “But if you want to owe me something, I’ll keep that in mind.”

Percival suspects the favour that might be asked of him won’t be quite the same as buying lunch, but he shrugs in agreement. “Did you eat?”

Newt looks caught and the brief hesitance before he answers is rather telling. “Yes.”

“Did you know you’re a terrible liar?”

“Yes,” Newt responds, pouting. “But lying is bad, Percy.”

“And yet you keep telling everyone that they aren't dangerous,” Mathews calls out.

“Because that’s the truth!”

The pure indignation on Newt’s face makes Percival chuckle and when it’s met with silence, he stops abruptly. He turns around to see the aurors staring again, this time with something soft in their eyes and Percival fights a blush.

“I suppose there’s nothing wrong with my laugh, either,” he attempts dryly.

“Nothing at all, sir,” Johnson says, grinning.

Percival sighs and resigns himself to losing his austere, dignified image in front of these people, but he can’t say he really minds it.

“Let’s take a break after lunch and resume in a couple hours,” he tells them as he grabs the remaining wrapped package and stands. “I will be eating with my husband so don’t call for me until then unless it’s important.”

He then ushers Newt out of the meeting room and sends a note to Ms. Kett as he marches them towards the elevators.

Percival takes them to a deserted hallway that is hardly used anymore because it had been one of the original paths to get from one point to another but a renovation done a few years ago introduced a new way for employees to travel between those two areas in a significantly shorter amount of time. He doesn’t know why they didn’t block off this hallway or break down the walls to add space, but he’s grateful. On one of the bad days during his recovery, Percival had stormed out of his office to escape everything, but he had still been afraid to walk outside alone so in his wandering of the Woolworth building, he discovered this location that gave him some reprieve. Others had also used the hallways but those times had been rare and they instinctively knew to leave him be.

Being on one of the outer edges, the hallway is lined with windows that face west which makes it a good location for viewing sunsets. He guides them to the short bench in the middle he had set up here after the third time he visited and it fits the both of them comfortably. Percival unwraps the sandwich and uses his wand to cut it neatly before handing a half to Newt. Newt kisses his cheek in thanks and bites into his food.

Pickett pokes his head out, presumably drawn by the sounds of eating, and he hops over onto Percival’s lap to look up at him imploringly.

“Did he not eat yet?”

Newt huffs amusedly. “He did, but he thinks if he pretends he didn’t, you’ll feed him.”

“You shouldn’t be greedy, Pickett,” Percival scolds even as he reaches into his pocket for his feed bottle; he might as well since Lady needs to eat, too.

“Say 'thank you’ to daddy, Pickett,” Newt tells the bowtruckle as Pickett reaches into the bottle for the smallest insect.

It still surprises Percival to hear the word said aloud—a recent development—even after learning that Newt has been referring to him as such in his own mind shortly after their mating.

_“I mean, it’s—it’s logical, isn’t it? Since we’re—well, you know—and I’m mummy to them and—”_

_Newt stutters his way through an explanation as Percival stares at him, eyes wide, shocked from hearing his mate refer to him ‘daddy’. Mary nudges at him impatiently before leaning over his shoulder and snatching the chunk of meat out of the air, and Newt swiftly pulls him out of the way. His mate is as red as a tomato and falls silent as he holds onto Percival’s sleeve like Percival will bolt if he doesn’t. He waits for Percival’s response._

_“I suppose,” Percival mutters dumbly, mind running through the implications of the word._

_That Newt entrusts his precious creatures to Percival, that he’s not only Newt’s mate but the father(?) of what he essentially considers his children. That they are already truths in Newt’s mind._

_Percival is floored by the knowledge. He had entered into fatherhood unknowingly, never had considered it—though it’s of the unconventional kind since that seems to be their usual._

_“And what happens when we have a—” and he can’t believe he’s even asking this, “—human child?”_

_A new light enters Newt’s eyes as they grow bigger, an indication that he clearly noticed Percival’s use of ‘when’ and not ‘if’. “Oh, um, then—well, they can share?”_

_The reply is so Newt that Percival barks a laugh, and he teases, “Then I assume you will be ‘mummy’ to him or her as well.”_

_But to his surprise—because he had expected some kind of denial and response about alphas definitely being the patriarchal figure—Newt shrugs and says, “Why not?”_

_It stuns him, stirs something in his chest to hear Newt casually dismiss the significance of gender-designated terms and see how comfortable his husband is with acknowledging himself as a caretaker. Not only does it make him unique, but also the best of alphas in Percival’s eyes. It affects his omega as pride swells within him, preening at the fact that he chose his mate well for himself._

_“Percy, if you keep looking at me like that...” Newt trails off, biting his lip, and flushing for a different reason._

_“Like I appreciate my alpha?” Percival asks rhetorically._

_Newt’s expression then shifts and Percival follows without protest when he walks them back the short distance to his workshop. He closes the door and presses Percival against it, searches his face for permission before reaching for his neck and leaning in. Newt noses underneath his jaw and inhales, a content rumble filling the air between them._

_“We’re not done feeding yet,” Percival mentions and pulls in a sharp breath when the skin behind his ear is bitten._

_He pulls his mate closer and drags his face up for a kiss that has him groaning as Newt immediately takes control and slots their mouths together in a better angle. Percival barely suppresses a whine as little bites to his bottom lip send shivers up his spine and fingers slide down his nape underneath the collar to stroke lightly at the base. His mouth falls open, a tongue delves in to tangle with his and Merlin, he’d like to tangle their bodies together—_

And he stops thinking right there because it's not good to remember how pent up they both are, not having had much time to themselves since this whole case started. Percival feels hot under his collar and turns away when he hears Newt sniffing before shifting closer. He doesn’t have to see to know Newt is staring at him and his mate calls his name—and the moment is broken when Lady complains about his lack of movement to feed her.

Though the tension is gone, Percival feels dissatisfaction settle heavily in his gut as he floats the bottle up to his occamy and allows her to take one of its contents. Not that he would’ve acted on his desires here, but he’s realising another way in which the case is taking a toll on them. When he looks back, Newt smiles at him as if to say ‘what can you do?’ and Percival has no answer.

After they’ve eaten, his mate asks about this place and Percival is comfortable with telling him how it had become one of his favoured spots and he ends up kissing away the upset frown on Newt’s face. He decides to bring him here more often and build happier memories of it.

 

 

They prevent the next two attacks successfully within the same week, but the aurors do not come away unharmed. Percival suspects that the enemy realised someone of Rick’s calibre is no longer enough to complete the task and are sending stronger magic-users, and the result is another two aurors recovering from non-lethal curses; nothing that a potion and a quick healing spell can’t fix, but it concerns him nonetheless.

There aren’t many potential targets left according to their list, and since the organisation’s other activities have dwindled significantly thanks to everyone’s hard work, he can safely assume that they haven’t had time to search for anyone else.

“I’ll be joining one of the teams on the next guard duty,” Percival tells his husband as they feed the creatures their dinner.

The pause is brief, yet Percival notices because he had been looking for it; but when Newt only nods, he says nothing more.

“You are with Tina’s group for tomorrow, correct?” he asks as the last of the diricawls receive their meals.

Newt nods again, and Percival thinks no more of it as they finish up. He’s looking forward to going home for the night—another rarity of the past month—and having a small drink, and wonders if Newt might join him tonight as the man tends to do every now and then.

They start to climb out of the case but Percival quickly reaches for his wand as soon as he lifts the lid, sensing an intruder, then glares at Theseus who is comfortably seated in his chair. He keeps his wand pointed at the man out of caution as he climbs the rest of the way out, Newt swiftly following, and both men wait patiently as he casts a _revelio_ for his own peace of mind. Theseus smiles apologetically afterwards and Percival shakes his head.

“By the way, that’s _my_ chair,” Percival says, crossing his arms.

“You ass is printed on this seat, my friend,” Theseus drawls, leaning back much too comfortably. “Let me have a try.”

Percival doesn’t know how to respond without sounding petty so he settles for a glare. Newt comes up behind him after locking the suitcase properly and wraps his arms around Percival’s waist as he leans his head on his shoulder.

“Don’t upset my mate, ‘Seus.”

Theseus rolls his eyes. “You two are sickening. And bullies.”

“I thought you said you would be arriving soon and now it has been almost two weeks,” Percival says, arching a brow.

“Yes, well, I like to be unpredictable to make things interesting—” and Percival rolls his eyes in turn, “—but all joking aside, I had some things to take care of at the last minute.”

Then his face grows serious. “How goes your case?”

Percival sighs. “Let’s talk at home.”

Within half an hour, the three of them are lounging comfortably in their living room, each with a drink in hand. Percival explains what has been happening without revealing all the details and also ends up unintentionally sharing what he and Newt have been going through, seeing how both things have somehow been intricately tied together for the past weeks.

“To think you’re already having such problems,” Theseus sighs. “It must be an age thing.”

Percival smirks at his friend’s assessment and just raises his glass while Newt chuckles.

Theseus tips his back before taking a sip. “Anyway, I’m sorry to hear about the troubles your city is currently facing. But it seems to me that the investigations are going well?”

“Optimistically, yes. I’m hoping we will be able to apprehend another perpetrator who might have the information we need. They must be running low on disposable recruits if the recent attacks are any indication.”

“Alright,” Theseus nods. “I can help you in an unofficial capacity.”

“That’d be great, thank you,” Percival says and drinks from his cup.

They move onto other topics, talking about everything from Theseus’s latest romantic interest, their parents and how they need to plan a visit, to a potential new department at MACUSA thanks to Newt’s influence. The time passes faster than expected and next thing they know, it’s already one in the morning.

Theseus bids them good night first and sees himself up to the guestroom while Percival tries to coax Newt, who is falling asleep on his shoulder, into moving as well.

“Newt, get up; we should get to bed ourselves,” Percival says, gently shaking the man. “There’s a good alpha.”

Newt groans but stands and lets Percival guide him by the hand up the stairs. His husband nearly chokes on toothpaste when he yawns while brushing his teeth and puts on his pajama shirt inside out which Percival corrects. He flops onto the bed gratefully, burrowing immediately into his pillow, and Percival pulls off the forgotten sock from his right foot. He spells everything back to their proper places, sends dirty clothing out to the laundry pile before changing into his own sleepwear. He then finally joins his mate who has been calling out to him and Newt wraps around him even before he puts his head down. They shift around until Percival is comfortably on his back with Newt almost half atop him.

Percival sighs and takes in Newt’s scent as his mate burrows into his neck, thinks about how Newt has his sleeping habits just as he has his waking ones. From what he has heard, Newt can fall asleep anywhere his body deems comfortable enough once he is ready to crash, whether it be lying on a horizontal surface or simply sitting down. It’s hard to imagine how the man has survived this long considering all his adventures, exposing himself to all sorts of dangers from humans and creatures alike.

He snorts. What a pair they make.

He hears Newt mumble something and doesn’t bother trying to discern it. “Go to sleep, Newt.”

Fingers dig into his ribs causing him to yelp, and Percival tugs on his mate’s ear in retaliation. Then he releases a different kind of noise when Newt bites down and proceeds to lick the stinging skin. He kisses the base of Percival’s throat and noses up the line of his neck to his favoured spot under the ear, nibbling lightly.

“Newt...” Percival gasps, shivering.

Newt hums in response, the fingers from before slipping under his shirt and up his side. The palm of his hand is a rough, firm drag across his chest and Percival grasps at the man’s arm, wanting to pull him closer but _Theseus is down the hall_ —

And as if reading his mind, his mate stops, and disappointment wars with relief in his chest. He still tugs at Newt, hoping to release some of this provoked desire with soft kisses, but feels the man go slack against him, his breathing evening out into something slow and steady.

“Are you serious,” Percival groans, his now sleeping husband oblivious to his frustration.

But he adjusts Newt’s head so he won’t suffocate and then focuses on calming himself down. He thinks that after this is over, he just might spend a whole weekend keeping his husband in bed.

 

 

Breakfast is a simple but loud affair as Theseus shares stories from his workplace. Apparently, Hogwarts is looking to have Newt visit sometime as a guest speaker with the rising interest of students in the study of magical creatures. Newt looks delighted yet nervous at that and he turns to give Percival a brief glance while answering that he'll consider it.

Percival knows of his husband’s history with the school and understands the sentiment, and lightly squeezes his knee under the table. If Newt wants to go, then Percival might ask Theseus to tag along for support depending on his level of comfort. But as they're getting changed after the morning rounds, Newt asks if Percival will consider joining him on the possible trip so he can see the school for himself.

“And it’d be a good opportunity to show off to my mate,” the man teases.

“I’m already proud of you, sweetheart, so there's no need,” Percival says as he adjusts the fit of his husband’s clothing. “But it’s always good to see you in your element, I'll admit.”

Newt’s lack of response has him looking up curiously, and he sees wide eyes on a pink face, mouth opening and closing uselessly.

Percival frowns and takes hold of Newt’s hands. “Did I not tell you that before?”

“I don’t—I think? You might have, I'm not sure,” Newt stutters. “But I knew, probably. The way you look at me sometimes—”

He stops, grins, shy and pleased, and Percival can't help but lean up and kiss him. Mercy Lewis, how can an alpha be so charming? And belong to him, even.

Percival takes a last whiff of his pleased alpha and carries that scent with him to work. Theseus parts first to meet with Seraphina and inform her of his presence for the next few days while Newt continues with him. He enters the room and greets the few aurors who are already here, and couldn’t care less that they notice his especially good mood this morning, whether they are frightened by it or not. He walks Newt to his desk and wishes him a good day, then asks Tina to follow him as he passes her by.

In the office, he starts the coffee machine and asks her to wait as he sets down the suitcase and retrieves his occamy. He gives Lady a treat for being a good girl and waiting patiently for him, then offers Tina a cup when the coffee is done which she accepts with surprised delight. Once they’re comfortably seated, he asks her questions about working with Newt and his unofficial team, how she finds it, if she’d rather be delegated a different kind of work.

“I’m grateful for what you have done, Tina, guiding him as both a friend and mentor and making his transition into MACUSA smoother than it could have been. But I’m confident that he should be fine from now on for the foreseeable future and if you’d like to be assigned to other cases, that is your choice.”

“Thank you, sir,” Tina says after a stunned moment.

Percival shakes his head. “You’ve proven yourself a good auror and have potential to go further so it’d be good to train you other areas.”

“I may be ready for a little less excitement,” she chuckles sheepishly, then clears her throat. “Not to imply that there are any boring aspects to the department, sir. It’s just, well...”

“I’ve heard the stories,” he sighs, but his lips quirk in amusement.

She gives him suggestions as to who might be interested in working with Newt and Percival asks her talk to them and let him know if he needs to be aware of any changes. After Tina leaves, he spends a quiet hour reviewing files and reports while sipping his coffee. Lady dozes in his lap and Dougal, who Percival let sneak out earlier after him, is enjoying an apple on the couch.

He’s finishing signing everything on his desk when Theseus returns and they discuss how he might be able to assist but it quickly devolves into arguing over everything and nothing. Then, tiring of that, the conversation flows to book recommendations and the perfect place to read, which somehow leads to coffee shops and the pastries they carry. Theseus teases him for not only being a coffee addict but one of sweets as well and Percival argues that some are irresistible and the man would understand if he only tried some.

“So, when are we going, then?” Theseus asks, grinning.

“Go by yourself; I don’t have time to be your tour guide,” Percival huffs.

His friend clucks his tongue. “If this is your way of telling me to get you some, you could ask nicer.”

“As if you would know which ones to get.”

“Trust me, I have far more refined tastes than you think.”

Percival eyes him sceptically, and after a minute, “When are you heading out?”

“Ha, I knew you were planning to use me as an errand boy!”

But Theseus laughs good-naturedly and promises to bring him back a box, and Percival thanks him, says that he’ll treat him to dinner later. As soon as the whirlwind that is his friend passes, he enjoys a moment to himself while going over what needs to be done for the afternoon before leaving the office to find Newt for lunch. He discovers that Theseus has kidnapped him and he suspects it’s because Newt knows what he likes, the sneaky bastard.

And so he ends up in the lunchroom with Lady and Dougal dipping a half-decent slice of bread in a bland soup, not having much of an appetite. He tries not to be affected by Dougal’s accusing stare when the demiguise notices he stops eating because he’s debating whether to finish it or toss the rest out.

Then Abernathy inadvertently saves him when she comes requesting his immediate presence, apologising for interrupting. As they head back, she informs him that one of the suspects identified earlier thanks to Rick’s confession has been spotted on the streets mere blocks from the Woolworth building. The auror who had discovered him managed to tag the wizard with a tracking spell and a team is currently on its way there to provide backup.

“They will report back if they discover some sort of hideout, but otherwise will attempt to capture him alive.”

“Good work,” Percival nods, stroking absently over Dougal’s head as he clings to him. “We may have to send Tina’s group earlier than expected in case they are planning something.”

Newt returns as he’s briefing Tina and the other aurors on the updated situation and he orders them to prepare themselves and leave within an hour. Theseus volunteers to go with them but Percival shakes his head, asks the man to remain here and be ready to move when they receive news from the other team.

After the short meeting, he excuses himself and takes Newt to his office. Once inside, he lets Dougal down and coaxes Lady onto the couch before stepping back and kissing the man hard much to Newt’s surprise.

“Be careful,” Percival tells Newt after drawing back, unable to hide the worry from his voice.

The surprise melts away into fondness, and Newt kisses him again before saying, “I’ll be fine, love; we’ve almost got them.”

He brushes a stray hair out of Percival’s face and cups his cheek, thumb stroking lightly under his eye. Percival leans into the touch, unsure why he’s feeling so anxious unlike the other times Newt had gone out with the aurors. Perhaps it’s the anticipation of closing in on the enemy.

Newt kisses his forehead and smiles reassuringly, telling Percival he’ll see him later tonight, then slips out the door. And Percival stares at the closed door until he feels ridiculous for staring at it and paces his office nervously until Theseus comes not long after to distract him with the promised box of baked goods.

They’re delicious, he thinks, made to stay warm by a spell, and the choice of pastries clearly show that Newt had been the one to choose them. He says as much and Theseus grins shamelessly before biting into one.

“It’s not too bad, I suppose,” he says, and takes the offered mug of coffee.

Although the box is meant for him, he doesn’t feel his usual enthusiasm for the goods and puts it away after having just the one. He then works on a summary for Seraphina while his friend steps outside to check on his aurors. O’Brien drops by with some more papers and Percival inwardly sighs, not having much of a mind to read them; but afters years and years behind the desk, it’s easy enough to force himself.

Another couple hours go by, and when he checks the time, he notes that the sun’s about to set. He won’t need to feed the creatures for another hour or so but he’s contemplating if he should take Dougal and Lady down inside the case and have a little break. His thoughts are interrupted by the sound of knocking, and Percival waves the door open.

Mathews enters with a satisfied smirk followed by Theseus, informing him that they managed to successfully catch the suspect who is now in the holding cells. Unfortunately, he had noticed the spell part of the way to wherever he had been headed and changed his direction, so no concrete location was discovered.

“I’d like to have a go at him, if you don’t mind,” Theseus says. “He probably won’t be expecting my presence here.”

“It shouldn’t be a problem,” Percival agrees. “We’ll let him stew until later tonight and try then.” He turns to his auror. “Thank you, Mathews. You can—”

He pauses, noticing someone run down the hallway. Fontaine stops just inside the doorway, and Percival straightens when he sees the grim expression on the man’s face.

“My apologies, Director, but we’ve just received Auror Goldstein’s patronus,” he says, and Percival’s stomach drops. “We’ve sent some people to their location so they should be arriving soon.”

Percival swallows to wet his suddenly dry throat. “I see, thank you, Fontaine. I will be there shortly.”

The auror shoots him a concerned look, but nods and walks out, Mathews leaving with him. He doesn’t move yet, a myriad of thoughts racing through his head, imagining scenario after scenario in which a patronus would have been necessary.

“Percival,” Theseus calls gently, touching his arm. “Let’s get the little ones inside and head out as well.”

At his friend’s prompting, Percival nods and wipes a hand nervously over his mouth. He gathers the creatures curled together on the couch and tells Theseus to wait for him before entering the case. Percival moves automatically after that, trying to be as efficient as possible in order to get to Newt sooner. The next thing he knows, he’s waiting stiffly by the entrance of the room while suppressing the urge to go to them.

Ten minutes later, an auror enters alone to let them know that some of the team came ahead because they needed medical assistance. Percival hears nothing after that as his body moves on its own, not the sound of people calling him as he leaves them behind nor the offended exclamations as he carelessly runs into those who are in the way.

He makes it to the healing wards and opens the doors with a trembling hand and pounding heart. His eyes frantically search for a familiar face, hair, _anything_ as he walks through the room, and notices the aurors from his mate’s team. He lets out a shuddering breath when he doesn’t see Newt among them, but concern rises within him as he approaches the three bed-ridden aurors. The healers are tending to them and stop his advance with a sharp look, and he waits until one of them come over.

“What is their status, Eleanor?” he demands, forgoing his usual greeting.

Healer Eleanor doesn’t even blink at his rudeness, expression calm as always. “They will need to stay here a couple days to be monitored, but their conditions are stable for now. Two of them had concussions and another suffered minor internal bleeding, but those and some severe lacerations have been healed. They will need much rest, and I will inform you when they will be fit for duty. I trust that you will contact their families?”

Percival nods numbly, their injuries much more serious than he had expected. So far, they’ve not had much trouble combating the attackers, but this had either been an ambush or the leaders have finally shown themselves. He thanks Eleanor and apologises before swiftly heading back to his department, figuring the rest of the team must be here by now.

Tina is the first one he sees, her back turned to him as she gestures and explains something to those gathered in front of her, and they all look up at him when they notice. Their faces are varying degrees of concern except for Theseus, whose eyes are narrowed and mouth pressed tight in a cold anger. Tina and the other auror from her team finally turn around, their expressions one of shame and guilt.

He doesn’t see Newt.

“Tina, Finley, are you two alright?” Percival asks as he steps up to them, finding injuries on them as well but they look down and nod. “Where—” he stops, throat tightening. “Where is he?”

Tina straightens up and meets his gaze determinedly, stance that of giving a report as she hands him a piece of paper. “We were caught off guard, sir, because they came in a large group unlike the previous incidents and their target wasn’t who we predicted. We tried our best to prevent them from—”

Percival’s mind blanks and his heart nearly stops, almost crumpling the paper in his shaking hand. He hears nothing more that resembles any words and feels the blood drain from his face. He knows that everyone is witnessing his breakdown, but he can’t be bothered as he slowly opens the folded note and reads it, or tries to with his vision blurring slightly.

And he almost sobs in relief when the contents of the note finally penetrate his steadily numbing senses. They’ve kidnapped him, those cursed scumbags, and are demanding that he cease all investigations regarding their activities. He barks out a mirthless laugh.

“I’m going to destroy them,” Percival bites out, then raises his head. “Fontaine, please take care of things here while I assemble a team and go rescue Newt. And Tina, Finley, thank you for your hard work; you may go see the healers and I don’t want you back until Monday.”

“Percival.”

His gaze snaps towards Theseus who steps up to him as the aurors disperse. The man lays a gentle hand on his arm and it makes him pause.

“Maybe you should calm down first,” he says.

“I am calm,” Percival replies, scowling.

“I know, but you’re rushing, just a little.”

“Because time is of the essence, perhaps,” Percival snaps, unable to comprehend why Theseus is stalling him. “I need to find him. I can't—” and he inhales shakily, “I can't let myself think about it. We have to move.”

Theseus sighs after a stretch of silence. “Alright, but no need to worry too much—no, listen. Newt has been in these kinds of situations before and he knows how to keep his wits about him and find a way out. Pickett must be with him, too, so it'll be even easier.”

“But this is different—”

“Not too much so,” Theseus shrugs, then unexpectedly pulls Percival into a hug. “It’s alright that you’re upset by this, of course you are; I'm rather angry myself. But it'll be fine, we will find him. Okay?”

Percival takes a deep breath, tries to let Theseus’s words have their desired effect and nods, though he feels nowhere near as confident. But his friend seems to have enough of it for the both of them and that's somewhat comforting in itself.

“Now,” the man says as he draws back, “how were you planning to locate him?”

“I spelled his ring,” Percival replies as he suddenly remembers. “As long as he’s within the city boundaries, it should lead me to him.”

Theseus blinks. “That is one admirable foresight you have, I have to say.”

“It was just a precautionary measure that I never needed until now,” he says as he makes his way towards his office.

He tells O’Brien to assemble an appropriate team according to Tina’s estimation of the enemy and be ready to leave in ten minutes. He then asks Tina to pick up the suitcase from his office later after she’s healed and keep it with her for now. And she’ll be allowed to have help with feeding them.

As Percival makes final preparations for the raid, he prays for strength that he will not murder anyone if he finds out they harmed Newt.

 

 

The location that they’re led to is an abandoned warehouse by the docks and it’s so typically villainous of them to have such a place that Percival doesn’t know how to feel—partly offended, at least. The entrances have guardsmen but he has the advantage, most likely not expecting that he would move this quickly mere hours after their executed plan. He sends two aurors to disarm and incapacitate the two at the back and to prevent anyone trying to escape through there.

Percival knocks out the ones at the front and dismantles the weak ward before slipping inside. He’s grateful that the warehouse isn’t a large one and it takes less than a minute for them to sweep the smaller rooms and hallways, clearing them as they move deeper indoors. They reach a set of double doors and Percival knows this is it. There's a large concentration of magic he senses within and he's certain that after this, they'll be taking down a significant number of the organisation’s members. He casts _silencio_ before opening the doors and they bind two more guards who are predictably situated just inside.

Honestly, he would suspect that this is much too easy, but they thoroughly caught every security measure the enemy had set on the way in. He reckons they’ve realised their presence here by now with the last of the wards now gone. The silence of the large, concrete room is unsettling and everyone readies their wands as he splits the team into two groups, one with him in the lead and the other with O’Brien and Theseus, to approach the centre from opposite sides. Their plan is for Theseus to head straight for Newt and secure his safety while the rest of them apprehend all perpetrators present in this room.

The shelves and crates provide a decent cover from the patrols as they move closer towards a dim source of light on the other end. So far, Percival has counted five of them and they petrify three of those who are close by and set them tied up against the wall, then continue moving; he trusts the other team will deal with the rest. The source of light turns out to be a small fire, and there are a group of seven wizards and witches sitting or standing around it. Some are seated on crates, playing cards while the others chat idly.

“When do you think he’ll wake up?” he hears one of them speak. “We’ll need to get answers soon for the boss.”

“You could always wake him yourself if you’re feeling that anxious, but we have ways of making him talk faster,” a woman answers with an amused smirk.

Percival clenches his jaw and grips his wand tighter as he holds himself back from hexing them right now. He instead turns his focus on finding Newt who must be along the back wall that’s too dark to see because of their shadows. What’s taking Theseus so long—

Something yanks on his leg and Percival bites back a yelp as he loses his balance and knocks into the wall. He reflexively twists at the last minute to kick at the person with his other leg, but it’s grabbed and he braces for impact with the ground. He’s surprised when he feels his body cushioned by the air just before he hits and floats the rest of the way down. But he has no time to question the move as the attacker swiftly climbs atop him and grabs him by the throat, making Percival bring up his wand to point in the general direction of the silhouette. He hears the shuffling of his aurors as they also point their wands.

“Hey, what was that?” one of the witches ask warily.

“You idiots better not be fooling around back there!” another calls out, and the sound of footsteps start nearing them.

 _Damn it_ , Percival thinks desperately, they can’t be discovered already, not before he knows—

“Bloody hell,” his attacker mutters, “I was so close.”

Percival falters in shock, nearly dropping his wand.

“Newt?” he gasps and his attacker stills, grip loosening.

“Percy?” Newt hisses, letting go of his neck as if burned.

Newt abruptly pulls him up and folds him into a tight embrace and Percival’s mind spins as he automatically returns it.

“When did you—” he whispers, bewildered. “Wait a minute—”

“What in Merlin’s name—” a man exclaims as he shines a light upon them, and is immediately stunned by one of the aurors.

“We lost our guy!” Percival hears someone shout and he and Newt scramble up to stand.

The room brightens with several _lumos_ from their targets’ wands and the first offensive spell streaks across towards them from the other side.

Percival sighs and shares a look with his bruised but alive husband.

“Fuck.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Helloooooo, it has been a while! I've been swamped with studying and exams and weddings. I had this mostly done but I was so pooped and distracted and the last bit was hard to finalise, but here we are!
> 
> Thanks for yet another wild journey together with these two and man, this got way bigger than intended. I love you guys so much you make my writing experience absolutely enjoyable.
> 
> And like I mentioned, this will be the last of this 'verse for a bit since I have started writing something new. I'll hint that it's nothing like this and a bit darker in general. And no plot so far. It's great.
> 
> See you next time in the new story, hopefully!

The situation derails from an organised ‘rescue-Newt-and-detain-dark-wizards’ plan to a mess of hexes flying back and forth, crashing loudly into objects and damaging the structure.

Their enemy, rather calm and collected after the discovery of their missing hostage, had immediately started shooting back at the other group who have revealed themselves. Percival thinks Theseus is attempting to distract them so he orders his side to remain inconspicuous as they split up. He tells three of his aurors to stay behind and spread themselves to create a barrier that will contain some of this mess while watching the doors for possible back-up, and he, Newt, and another auror move quickly along the wall to get behind.

They aren’t as successful because one of the witches shoots a ball of light into the air and as soon as she spots them, she blasts away the crates nearby. Percival forms a shield around them to block the splintered chunks and his auror tosses a hex back at her.

“Where’s your wand?” Percival asks Newt as he throws the fallen pieces of wood at the witch all at once.

It forces her to defend not only herself, but her colleagues behind her and it stretches thinly around them, making it easy enough for Percival to shatter it at the edges with another spell.

“Sir, I think he went ahead,” he hears and true enough, a quick glance shows that Newt is gone. _Mercy Lewis_.

He deflects a curse that dents the wall behind him and focuses on the fight for now, finding a metal cabinet and smashing it into the unstable shield. He smirks when the force of it causes her to stumble back and accidentally step on another’s foot. Then suddenly, a blur shoots out from the side and knocks her completely into the wizard and they both go tumbling to the ground. He recognises the swooping evil’s spiked back as he lands on top of the pile of bodies and that’s when he sees Newt crouched by the back door.

Percival curses again as another wizard notices the state of his comrades and turns around. He doesn’t think and apparates in front of Newt, knocking a hex off-course with another shield. He retaliates immediately with a spell of his own that gets blocked as well, but he grazes the man’s shoulder with a follow-up and impressively, it doesn't drop his arm. But Percival doesn’t stop, throws curse after curse in rapid succession, and they blast through the man’s shield and catch him on various parts of his body.

A couple more shots and then he’s down on the floor. Percival disarms and binds him easily then looks around to see the rest of the members tied up as well. Theseus and all of his aurors seem relatively unharmed and they confirm it when he asks. A whimper catches his attention and he turns to see the witch leaning her head away as far as she can from the swooping evil’s exposed teeth.

“Oh my god,” she shrieks. “It’s doing something to me. There’s something wet—take it off!”

“Shut your damn mouth, Val,” groans the man underneath her.

“Oh dear,” Newt says as he saunters up to them. “That must be the venom; you’d best stay still so it doesn’t spread all around.”

Her eyes widen at that fill with tears as she breathes shakily. “Come on, please!”

“We need to be patient,” Newt tuts. “Don’t want to make any sudden movements and frighten poor Gary. Who knows how he might react?”

But he whistles sharply and the swooping evil hisses before leaping back towards Newt and folding himself into his cocoon. The witch, Val, stares in shock at the wet patch on her shirt and promptly faints.

“Fuck,” the man curses, now bearing her unconscious weight. “Don’t get any of that stuff on me!”

“Newt, stop with the damn theatrics already,” Theseus scolds, but his eyes sparkle with amusement.

Newt smiles sheepishly and walks over to Percival, retrieves his wand from inside the coat of the bound wizard. Percival then steps lightly on the man’s chest and slowly increases his weight on it, secretly pleased to hear the pained groan it draws.

“If you regret anything that you’ve done over the course of this evening, then do yourselves a favour and confess who is behind all this,” Percival says coldly, staring down at him. “Or I can make you regret it little by little until you beg for mercy that I do not have, because some empty-headed idiot thought it would be a brilliant idea to threaten my family. And trust me, the venom currently seeping into your friend’s flesh is the least of your worries.”

Percival steps off him, satisfied with the fear in his eyes, and nods at his aurors. “Get them out of here and lock them up.”

He calls in the aurors guarding the back doors to help out with the clean up as well and in total, they round up eighteen men and women. Theseus walks over as the others cart them out of the warehouse and tsks when he sees Newt close up.

“They must not have liked you very much, little brother,” he remarks as he starts healing the worst of the bruises on Newt’s face and the bleeding lip.

Newt shrugs. “What else is new? Thanks, ‘Seus, that feels much better.”

But Percival presses his lips together unhappily as he rolls up Newt’s sleeves to find abrasions on his wrists and heals them. “I assume these are from the restraints; Pickett must've unlocked them for you.”

“Of course; he's always here to get me out of anything,” Newt says proudly as the bowtruckle pokes his head out. “Speaking of, how did you get here so quickly? If you had arrived a few minutes later, I might have met you outside instead of tackling you in here.”

“Figures you wouldn't even know how to be a normal hostage and nearly ruin the whole operation,” Percival sighs. “It was the ring, to answer your question. “

Newt stares at him, then down at his ring, then up at Percival again. “Well, aren’t you clever.”

“Isn’t he?” Theseus chuckles. “He already knows you so well.”

“Did you not notice when I activated it?” Percival asks, arching a brow.

“I was a little preoccupied with trying to get myself out, sir,” Newt replies cheekily, then his smile drops. “Oh, right, sorry about earlier, Percy; I must have squeezed too hard.”

Tentative finger brush against the skin of his neck and Percival hadn’t realised its sensitivity due to the adrenaline, but now that the excitement is over, the small aches and pains are making themselves known. And when he sees Newt’s concerned look, to his utter mortification, his eyes suddenly burn hot.

Theseus clears his throat awkwardly. “I’m going to leave you two alone now and go ahead with the other boys and girls,” then he disappears with a snap.

Percival pulls in a shaky breath and covers his mouth, trying to hold back the tears. The distress he had been suppressing for the past couple hours is resurfacing even though his mind has already reconciled the fact that his husband is alive and well and back with him. It had only been years and years of training and experience that had allowed him to push away his emotions and act accordingly, but now...

“I didn’t mean to hurt you, Percy,” Newt apologises frantically, one hand cupping his nape while the other holds his waist. “Come on, let me see properly—”

Percival shakes his head and angrily swipes at his wet eyes. “It’s not—fuck,” his breath hitches, “ _fuck_. That was—you _scared_ me, Newt.”

The last part comes out as a sob that he can’t swallow, and he grits his teeth tightly against the next one that rises in his throat. Percival breathes through it and forces it down as Newt draws him closer, tucks his face into Newt’s neck. The comforting scent that fills his nostrils nearly breaks him again, but he squeezes his eyes shut and concentrates on the steady arm around his back and soft crooning in his ear. Eventually, the tension in his body starts to unwind and as he relaxes, Percival wraps his arms around Newt in return and nuzzles at him.

Newt pulls back slightly and the hand at his nape slides around to cup his cheek. Percival lifts his head at the wordless prompting and sighs as he’s kissed softly. Then Newt turns his head and kisses him again. And again. And he prolongs the contact between their mouths each time, rendering Percival breathless.

“Newt,” Percival gasps. “We should...”

“Okay, okay,” Newt laughs, and with a last peck, they separate reluctantly. “Let’s go home.”

But they don’t move right away, fingers still locked together, and Pickett uses that opportunity to walk up Percival’s arm and perch on his shoulder.

“You did good, Pickett,” Percival says to him, and smiles when the bowtruckle waves. “Thank you.”

Newt, who was watching fondly, suddenly blinks wide. “Wait, where’s the suitcase?”

“It’s with Tina for the night, no worries,” Percival replies as he straightens his coat. “But we’ll need to drop by MACUSA first to wrap up this incident.”

“Right,” his husband sighs as he tilts Percival’s head again to heal the light bruising around his throat. He then links arms with Percival and side-alongs to the Woolworth building. “Oh, I hope you won’t tell that lady about Gary peeing on her.”

“Of course not,” Percival snorts as they enter, and thinks he’d be happy if she never figures it out.

Everything is mostly taken care of by the time Percival arrives at their department, and they hold a short debriefing session about tonight’s raid. Feeling generous, he dismisses everyone involved for the night and gives ample time for the written report.

“Should we be expecting you tomorrow, sir?” Mathews asks as everyone is leaving.

Percival looks up from the compilation of files in his hand, confused. “Excuse me?”

“What she means, sir, is that it’s fine for you to take the next day off should you need it,” Abernathy explains.

“Well, thank you, but that isn’t necessary—”

“It’s alright, boss. We’d understand perfectly if you wanted to spend some time reaffirming—”

“Okay, O’Brien, time to go,” Mathews interrupts.

Percival watches, perplexed, as the rest of them leave in a hurry. When he turns to Newt, his husband only shrugs.

“I was planning to take a break after we solved this whole case,” Percival tells him.

“It’s up to you, love.”

“It’d be selfish of me.”

”And you’re the only one who thinks that.”

Percival narrows his eyes. “That isn’t true.”

Newt smiles oddly at him. “Let me make it simple for you, Percy: you have two choices, one decision, and no one will be surprised either way. You know it’s the truth because I’m a terrible liar.”

He frowns, knows he’s being stubborn about this, but Percival is still unsure about the _freedom_ he has with regards to his professional life. He doesn’t wish to have such a liberal attitude towards it all of a sudden even though everyone is encouraging him to do so. And Newt seems to pick up on the conflict because he reaches over and holds one of Pervival’s hands.

“Then how about this,” he says gently, “we’ll go home, sleep on it, and if you change your mind in the morning, I can come here and let them know.”

That sounds irresponsible and Percival prepares to say as much but then his mate continues, “And do you really want to be doing this here and now when we have the night to ourselves and I could be pleasuring you right this moment?”

He nearly chokes on his tongue and flushes hotly at the images blooming in his mind from Newt’s suggestion. “But Theseus—”

“—is staying elsewhere,” Newt finishes.

Percival gapes. “Did you just—so we could—?”

“I did nothing of the sort,” Newt replies, pouting. “He just told me himself and then left.”

“Dear Morgana...”

“But we’re wasting time here,” Newt informs and takes the files out of Percival’s slack grip before standing. “Should I give these to Mr. Fontaine?”

“Yes, please,” Percival sighs. “And tell him I'll be in by noon tomorrow.”

That's as much as Percival is willing to compromise this time and Newt nods before walking over to the auror’s desk. His wishes his remaining subordinates a good night and waves at Fontaine as they head towards the elevators and for some reason, the man gives him a thumbs-up. But Percival is soon distracted by the anticipation building in his chest and in no time they're back home.

Newt doesn't even pause after the door closes behind them and takes Pickett to drop him onto the sofa, murmuring apologies and something about mummy and daddy needing time alone. Percival’s face heats up when he hears that as he removes his coat and scarf, and his heart skips a beat when he turns around to see Newt, also divested of his outerwear, striding purposefully back towards him. It resembles the prowl of a hunter approaching his prey and Percival starts to feel hot under his collar despite just having stepped in from the cold. When Newt reached him, he unexpectedly lifts Percival into his arms to which he lets out an embarrassing noise.

“I can walk, Newt,” he scolds, but his omega is rather pleased by the display of strength.

“That may not be the case in a few hours,” his mate remarks casually as he marches them straight to their bedroom.

Newt lowers him onto the bed and follows him down, capturing his mouth in a heated kiss. His tongue parts Percival’s lips effortlessly and licks inside, making him groan and shiver. His mate kisses him relentlessly, hands stroking his neck, dragging down his chest and sides while Percival’s own grasp helplessly at the sheets underneath him. Percival whines when he can no longer breathe properly and the man finally pulls off his lips.

“Love you,” Newt murmurs against him.

Percival tries to catch his breath but the words make it difficult and he swallows hard. Newt smiles and noses at him, scents him, then sets teeth into the skin of his neck. He licks, bites, and sucks at the bared flesh as his hands continue roaming over Percival’s clothed body, leaving Percival heady and even more breathless than before. He barely notices Newt removing his tie pins and unbuckling his belt, and it’s the feeling of his wrists wrapped in a large hand and raised above his head that breaks through the haze. He realises that his shirt is already fully unbuttoned and lying open, exposing his torso, and the raw desire in Newt’s eyes as they gaze at him almost makes him squirm.

“Why don’t you vanish them—”

“Shhh,” Newt hushes him, drawing unknown patterns on his stomach. “Let me have this, Percy; let me enjoy you.”

Percival bites back a whimper caught in his throat at the dark, husky tone his mate speaks with. They don’t have to stop this time, he thinks absently, and subconsciously relaxes further into the mattress. Newt smiles, lips curving up into something sensual, and leans down to rub his cheek against Percival’s.

“There we go,” he croons, and releases his grip on the wrists to wind their fingers together.

Although arousal runs through his veins like liquid fire, Percival is grounded by his alpha’s hold on him. He squeezes back and turns his head slightly to mouth at whatever part he can reach. With his free hand, he starts loosening Newt’s tie.

“Take off your clothes, Newt,” he sighs.

“Patience, love,” Newt hums in his ear, “we have all night.”

Percival shifts a little and frowns, feeling how damp he is down below. “At least let me take off these pants before I ruin them.”

Newt laughs, drawing back and looking delighted. “Fine, but this is the last time you'll be allowed up for a while.”

True to his word, once all the obstacles are out of the way, his husband presses him into the bed and makes him cry out repeatedly, pleasuring him to the point of incoherent bliss. Newt fills and empties him, takes him apart piece by piece then makes him whole. Percival gives just as much and more, grateful that his mate is safe here with him. He holds onto him tightly and doesn’t let the man out of his sight even once during their lovemaking.

And when the tears of relief finally fall because he can no longer hold them back, Percival tells him it’s because he's overwhelmed by the sensations, to which Newt says nothing and only kisses the moisture away.

Some time later, they’re lying next to each other—sated, clean, and under the covers—with Newt on his side and Percival on his stomach. And Newt’s prediction has come true because Percival is groaning at the pleasant aches all over his body, knowing he won’t be getting up and walking anytime soon. Despite his grumbles about his mate’s insatiability, however, he refuses to be healed and fights back a blush at Newt’s pleased grin.

“I’m flattered, really,” Newt says as he runs a hand soothingly up and down Percival’s back. “Are you sure, though? You might regret it tomorrow.”

“If I do, then you can deal with it then.”

“Why me?” Newt asks in apparent confusion.

“Because this is your fault, sweetheart.”

Newt only looks happier at that and leans in to nuzzle at Percival’s nape. “Go to sleep, Percy; I’ll be here with coffee when you wake.”

“That sounds lovely,” Percival mumbles, blinking tiredly.

He reaches out with the last of his energy and finds Newt’s other hand that is resting on the pillow between them. And with that connection, reassured of his mate’s presence, he closes his eyes and sinks into sleep.

 

 

It takes another week to catch the leader of the organisation because of his tight-lipped followers and vanishing act. As soon as they identify him, they spread the information to all the other branches and he’s finally caught in Arizona of all places because he accidentally stumbles into a thunderbird’s territory. Theseus personally goes to collect him in order to ensure his state of captivity and after another few days of accounting for all members and criminal activities, the case finally closes.

The aurors ask Percival to go out for drinks and he decides to treat them as a reward. So after he and Newt make the evening rounds in the suitcase, they head over to the usual pub. The Prancing Unicorn becomes the Prancing Aurors when a night of celebration turns into chaos due to drunken antics. Thankfully, most drink in moderation and remain relatively in control, but the few who fail to are loud and disruptive. Later, Percival will apologise to the owner and offer them to be used for three days as punishment.

Theseus falls asleep, of course, this time on Percival’s lap, and it steadily numbs his leg. Newt nudges his shoulder apologetically and offers his own for Percival to lean on.

“He really likes using you as a cushion, doesn't he,” Newt says, a sheepish smile on his face.

“You’re no better, but I see where you got it from,” Percival teases, and kisses away his husband’s pout.

“Why are you guys so cute?” Mathews blurts loudly from the other side. “That should be illegal, sir.”

Percival raises an unimpressed brow at the auror. “I resent that, Mathews. And I think you've had enough for tonight.”

“Hey, I propose a toast for our Director,” O’Brien cuts in, wrapping an arm around his colleague’s shoulder.

“To the best one we ever had, coffee addiction, grumpy disposition, stubborn ass and all,” Abernathy finishes, then hiccups.

“Cheers!” everyone shouts.

Percival sighs heavily but raises his glass even though it's the fifth time they're doing this, and it’s getting progressively more honest with the alcohol lowering their inhibitions. He might have to show them how _grumpy_ he can really be out of spite.

“Well, I don't think they know how grumpy you actually get without a coffee in the morning,” Newt says as they share a knowing look. “But that's only for me, okay?”

His husband gets possessive about the weirdest things, but it makes Percival smile. “Of course.”

At the end of the night, he makes sure that everyone is paired up with someone relatively sober before sending them home, and he notes again that Mathews and Abernathy are especially close to one another. They must be doing alright, then.

Newt carries Theseus home on his back and while he puts his brother to bed, Percival changes into his sleepwear before heading to the kitchen. He brews them coffee and tea and starts the fire in the living room, then waits for Newt on the couch with a blanket. His husband comes down minutes later, also changed, and visibly lights up at the sight of Percival patting the space next to him, and then they're both tucked together underneath the blanket.

They share warmth and quietness, listening to one another’s breathing and crackling from the fireplace. Newt hums as he sips his tea and Percival is secretly proud that he's getting better at brewing the way his mate likes it. Then Newt glances over and smiles at him, eyes curving just right, and his chest swells with helpless affection.

“I love you,” Percival says softly.

From this close, he can see those beautiful green eyes blink and grow misty, and he smiles into the kiss Newt presses to his mouth.

“Are you going to cry every time I say it?”

“Only until the novelty wears off,” his husband jokes, sniffling.

Percival frowns in mock concern. “Really. And when do you suppose that will happen?”

“Maybe in ten years.”

“Merlin, even for you that was too much,” Percival groans.

“Shush, Percy; it’s not like you never cry because of me.”

“This isn’t a competition, Newton.”

“Please don’t call me that; you sound like my mother when I do something bad.”

Percival pauses, stares. “Should you have told me that?”

Newt bites his lip. “Probably not.”

This time, Percival doesn't even bother with words and gently pulls Newt’s lip away from his teeth, and his mate smiles sheepishly.

“What do you want to do tomorrow after we see Theseus off?” Newt asks as he takes Percival’s hand into his own.

“Assuming he doesn’t miss his portkey and gets home safely, then there’s something we need to discuss.”

“Oh,” and Newt visibly slumps. “You mean that thing you told me not to worry about but I do anyway.”

Percival gazes fondly at his mate. “Trust me, nothing to worry about.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” Newt shrugs. “By the way, I don’t believe I officially thanked you for saving me last time. So, thank you.”

Percival snorts. “You saved yourself and we interrupted that, if I recall correctly.” Then in a fit of honesty for which he blames the alcohol, he adds, “I’ll always come for you, Newt.”

“Oh, good,” Newt sighs happily. “That makes two of us.”

They finish their drinks in silence and before heading to bed, Percival asks Newt to take a hangover potion to his brother. Due to the late night, they don’t get to sleep much before Theseus is shouting at them to come down for breakfast and Newt has to calm Percival down so he doesn’t commit fratricide on a whim. He hastily presses a mug into Percival’s hands when they enter the kitchen, muttering something about how he wouldn’t last two days without coffee. Then Percival is guided to the dining table to sit and until he finishes the mug’s contents, he speaks to neither of them.

“Thanks for the potion, by the way,” Theseus says while cooking eggs.

“Consider it my gratitude for your help with the case,” Percival replies.

“You can’t be serious, mate,” Theseus shakes his head. “Surely my help is worth more than what you usually do anyway.”

“I bought you drinks,” Percival points out.

Newt looks like he’s trying to hold back laughter at their exchange while he butters the fresh loaf of bread his brother must have purchased after he woke up. He hands the first slice to Percival.

Theseus narrows his eyes at him. “You know what—never mind. Consider yourself fortunate that I’m so fond of you.”

“I’m only kidding, Theseus,” Percival chuckles, and floats the second slice over to the man. “I still have to treat you to dinner.”

“That’s more like it,” his friend grins, grabbing the bread. “In that case, come to England and I’ll choose the fanciest restaurant I can find.”

“Whatever you wish, your highness.”

With that promise made, Theseus leaves for his home after breakfast and as he waves goodbye, Percival wishes he could better express how thankful he is for his friend. He says as much to Newt as they stroll leisurely along the streets, opting not to return directly, and Newt reassures that Theseus knows already.

“But he isn’t a legilimens, is he?” Percival asks doubtfully.

“You’re more obvious with your emotions than you think, love,” Newt answers casually, and anticipating a protest, continues, “Not that you’re obvious in general, but ‘Seus and I are pretty observant.”

Percival isn’t satisfied with the response, but he says nothing more. He lets Newt link their arms together as they walk, and the slightly warmer weather of March tempts him to stay outside longer, walk further.

They end up walking into several stores because Percival wants to find the perfect spring outerwear for his mate. When he does, he discovers the uncomfortable truth of wanting to strip it off Newt as much as keep it on him.

“I can't tell which you like more: me or the coat,” Newt says, amused.

“The coat, obviously,” Percival shoots back, struggling not to blush.

“Then I suppose I can take it off—”

“Don’t you dare,” Percival nearly growls.

But Newt manages to convince him that he needs to, eventually, since it's still too cold outside. His mate seems terribly pleased by Percival’s attention and the next place they go to is one of his favorite cafés. There, they have a simple lunch and at one point, Newt tangles their legs together under the table, surprising him.

“Your legs are too long,” Percival mutters, but squeezes the one between his a little tighter.

Newt tries to pout but he can’t control his grin and it’s utterly endearing that Percival looks away for a moment lest he do or say something embarrassing.

Their next spontaneous destination is the book store where they have a friendly argument over preferences and recommend titles and authors to each other. Newt reveals that he sometimes chooses simpler works because he likes reading them out loud to his creatures on occasion, then looks self-consciously towards him. Percival just takes the information in stride and tells him there’s nothing wrong with that. It's understandable since Newt had spent many of his adulthood years with only the creatures for company and it’s admittedly a nice thing to imagine.

Then they buy some bread and head to the park because Newt wants to feed the pigeons and it figures that he would be as invested in non-magical animals. Newt being Newt soon has the birds gathering around him in close proximity and though Percival inwardly sighs at the feathers getting all over him, he only watches. The sight distracts the children who are out with their families much to the parents’ annoyance, and his mate obliviously shares his bread with them to toss at the birds. Somehow, the adults deem it fit to approach Percival while the kids (and his husband) are occupied but he’s never in the mood for mindless chatter with strangers so they soon get the idea and leave him be.

Newt looks carefree and happy in a way he hasn’t been for quite some time and Percival’s heart aches. He wishes he could do something more, but he doesn’t know what. For now, he’ll just have to trust that Newt is telling him what he needs and perhaps in the future, they’ll be able better at this partnership.

Once the bread is gone, Newt thanks the children who helped out and makes his way back to Percival.

“You’re a mess,” Percival huffs, unconsciously leaning back.

“Nothing that can't be cleaned, Percy.”

“Take a bath when we get home.”

“If you weren't my husband, I would be offended,” Newt frowns and crosses his arms.

“No, you wouldn't.”

His mate grins. “No, I wouldn't.”

They apparate straight home and the first thing Percival does is hang up his coat, unbutton his collar and roll up his sleeves before taking Newt’s. He levitates it and sees that there aren’t as many feathers as he had expected.

“Get yourself in the bath, sweetheart,” he mutters absently as he goes about waving his hand and removing the wretched things.

“Thanks, Percy,” and Newt kisses him before heading upstairs.

Percival gathers every last feather he can find and vanishes them, then scourgifies the coat for good measure. He hangs it up then walks up to the bedroom to change only to find Newt’s clothing discarded haphazardly in a trail from the entrance to the bathroom. He sighs and flicks his hand at each piece, sending them to the laundry pile. After switching to more comfortable clothes, he climbs down into the suitcase to get a start on cleaning the habitats and is greeted immediately by Bill when he steps out of the workshop.

“Have you been good today?” Percival asks, cradling the niffler in one arm.

With his other hand, he pulls out a trinket he picked up earlier during their outing and Bill immediately reaches for it. Percival dangles it away from his claws once, twice, then lets Bill jump and catch it, chuckling. The niffler clings to Percival’s back as he walks around to clean up each area and reinforce spells, and is soon joined by Lady who perches on his shoulder. Pickett takes some coaxing because he’s upset that he was left behind for the day and wouldn’t hop onto Percival’s hand until Percival threatened to leave.

Although it hadn’t been much work, it’s enough to exhaust him after the day he has had and Percival expands the cot to lie down in it. He feels different weights move around on top of him before settling and that’s how Newt finds him, dozing off underneath a variety of creatures. The cot-turned-bed dips under another weight and fingers gently comb through his hair, bringing him back towards wakefulness.

“Dinner’s ready,” Newt says softly, then presses a kiss to the back of his neck.

It’s as Newt scents him that he smells a delicious aroma filling the air. Percival blinks slowly, trying to focus, and waits until his mate removes all the creatures off of him before pushing himself up. Newt hugs him and continues sniffing and nuzzling, rumbling deep in his chest, so Percival bares his throat for the moment even though he’d like to get to whatever food has been brought.

“So good,” Newt sighs happily. “I love it when you’re comfortable like this.”

Percival scents him as well, and presses a kiss to the man’s neck. “You smell much cleaner, thank goodness.”

Newt laughs and they both get up to walk over to the table which has been cleared to make way for a tray that holds two steaming bowls of soup and bread leftover from this morning. Upon closer look as he sits, Percival realises it’s clam chowder and the first spoonful has him moaning at the taste; it’s different from the one that they usually buy from the diner, but delicious all the same. He doesn’t notice Newt staring at him nervously until three more mouthfuls of the chowder and when he does, he raises a brow in question.

“How do you like it?” Newt asks, not even having touched his yet.

“It’s very good,” he says with a smile. “Where did you get this from?”

But when Newt doesn’t reply, understanding slowly dawns on him. “Newt, did you make this?”

His husband turns pink. “I—I tried, I guess. You seem to be okay with my cooking, so I wanted to experiment a little. Try something new. The recipe helped, of course, and—well, ah, I’m glad you like it.”

Newt looks down to hide his face, but glances up when Percival takes one of his hands. He kisses the knuckles, trying to express his appreciation for a mate who thinks of his needs and cooks for him, who enjoys taking care of him in this way.

“You’re a good alpha, Newt,” he says at last. “Thank you.”

He receives a beautiful smile at that which he can’t help but return, and they resume eating after a moment. As sappy as it might seem, it’s the best clam chowder he has ever had.

 

 

“What did you want to talk about?”

For some reason, Newt had thought it would be a good idea to lie with the mooncalves after feeding everyone and bring this up now. Percival nudges away a particularly curious one away from his face.

“This is rather distracting, Newt.”

“Oh, I got this; don’t worry.”

And he sits up and does _something_ —he can’t really tell from this angle—and miraculously, the herd settles down. Then instead of returning to his original spot, Newt lays his head on Percival’s stomach and nudges at him to go ahead.

Right. How to start this?

After a few minutes, he asks, “How do you like working at MACUSA?”

For some time, there’s no answer. Even without looking, he can sense his husband’s confusion and wariness and it makes him smile. “It isn’t a trick question.”

“Alright, well,” Newt starts, “I enjoy it. It’s a tangible way to see that what I do is making a difference in the way people of the law look at creatures. I’m teaching MACUSA—your department, specifically—to respect them and everyone’s willing to learn. I never expected it, to be honest.”

“You’re a good teacher, if a little biased,” Percival says. “Passionate, firm in your beliefs; people are attracted to that, I believe.”

“Does that apply to you as well?” Newt jokes.

“It’s one of the things that attract me to you, yes.”

“Oh,” Newt breathes. “Thank you.”

Percival tangles his fingers into Newt’s hair and takes a deep breath. “Do you ever feel trapped?”

A pause. “What do you mean?”

“I had originally thought that once you became accustomed to working here, you might be interested in a department for the regulation of magical beasts and acting as department head, but I’ve been thinking differently in the recent months—”

“What do you mean, Percy?” Newt repeats, voice tight, and he sits up again to face Percival. “I would like it very much if there was such a department here.”

“No, of course—” and Percival sits up as well, watching his mate carefully. “What I mean is, you wouldn't be the department head but continue as a consultant instead and not deal with... complications.”

Distress falls over Newt’s features. “Why? What am I doing wrong?”

“It’s not you, I—I’m not explaining this right,” Percival sighs, and reaches for his husband’s hand to reassure him. “Newt, bear with me for a minute. I’ve been watching you and how you work for three years now and correct me if I’m mistaken, but I don’t think this is something you can do long-term—at least, not currently. The reason being you are better-suited to freely seek and discover what’s out there to your heart’s content. You have a thirst for knowledge and curiosity that drives your passion, and sympathy for endangered and misunderstood beasts that very few have. I’m sure there are places and creatures you have yet to see.” He waits a moment to let that sink in, then finally asks, “Don’t you want to travel again?”

Newt looks struck, eyes wide, mouth slack. He doesn’t say anything at first, opens and closes his mouth a couple times. He turns away, tightens his grip on Percival’s hand.

“I think when you came back here, you didn’t intend to stay,” Percival says gently, squeezing back. “You didn’t intend to find me half-dead and court me and find yourself mated to me.”

“Percy—”

“Plans can change,” Percival continues, “and that’s understandable. It’s also understandable to return to your original plan sometimes.”

His mate shakes his head, still not looking. “I like it here; I want to catch the smugglers and shut down illegal businesses. I want to _help you_.

“I’m not saying you don’t like it or you aren’t helpful. You’ve been a wonderful addition to the team and have started establishing the foundation for future laws that will protect the creatures. You’re also a great teacher, I noticed. But what we do here is of a rigidity and structure that you don’t need to settle within just yet.”

“I don’t get it,” Newt says, voice low and upset. “How can you say that? I would never leave you.”

“You wouldn’t be,” Percival responds firmly. “This isn’t about you leaving or me sending you away. This is permission being granted to continue doing something you love.” He tugs at the man, guides his head to his shoulder. “You don’t have to decide right this minute; I’m only telling you now so you can go when you want—if being here becomes too much—whether it’s next week or next year. I love you, Newt, and far be it from me to deny an integral part of who you are.”

When his mate starts trembling, Percival holds him tighter and kisses his head. He murmurs soothing nonsense, breathes in the aftermath of a storm and the hominess of burning applewood, the seemingly conflicting yet complementary scent representing the man perfectly. Newt mumbles something into his neck then nips sharply at the flesh, making Percival wince. He raises his head, eyes narrowed and red-rimmed.

“You’re utterly, completely unfair,” he nearly growls.

Percival is surprised at the sudden aggression and Newt pushes up, forcing him to lean back then fall onto his elbows. His mate clutches at his waist, knocks his forehead against Percival’s a little too hard. Newt’s eyes bore into his with an almost frightening intensity.

“You can be absolutely infuriating, did you know that?” Newt continues, frustration colouring his tone. “You don’t listen, don’t even know half your worth, you’re stubborn to a fault, and for all that intelligence, you can be remarkably stupid about some things.”

Percival frowns, slightly offended. “I could say the same for you.”

“Who in the world tells their mate of less than a year that they can go far away wherever, whenever they want?” the man says, ignoring him. “That’s not something people do; even I know that.”

“Someone who knows their mate well, obviously,” Percival mutters, noting that Newt isn’t denying outright. “And might I remind you that you’d be coming back here eventually, or else I would hunt you down.”

“Of course I would, _always_ ,” Newt replies softly as he suddenly deflates, closing his eyes. “You’re an impossible man, Percy. I’ve been watching you, too, and I figured things out, thought rather confidently I knew a significant part of you, at least. Then you go and do something like this—”

Percival waits for Newt to finish his sentence but after a brief struggle that shows on his face, he lets out a strangled noise close to a whine. He in turn accidentally barks out a laugh, amused.

“Being your mate doesn’t make me predictable, Newt,” he says, impossibly fond.

And because his arms are starting to hurt, he pushes up and his mate falls onto his lap with a yelp. Newt blinks wide, shocked eyes up at him, then narrows them. He looks away then back, curls a hand around Percival’s wrist that’s near him.

“I know that,” he huffs. “But this is beyond my comprehension of humans and mates. And believe me, I've studied many examples throughout my life.”

Percival shakes his head, smiling. “I'm sure that helps on some level, but this is your first mating nonetheless and I'm far from the typical omega. Fortunately for you, you have a lifetime to make observations about us.”

Newt stares wide again, but his lips twitch slightly. “That was quite sentimental of you.”

“I know,” Percival groans, heat creeping up his neck. “I hated myself a little just then.”

Newt finally laughs as he reaches for Percival’s neck and brushes his fingers against it. “I'll jot that down for future reference.”

“Oh, shush.”

His mate grins brightly and his hand climbs further to cup Percival's face. And when Percival leans into it, the grin fades and his eyes go soft.

“I—I don’t want to go just yet,” Newt starts hesitantly. “I can’t bear the idea of being away from you right now, when I’ve yet to fully enjoy that you’re mine. But even knowing that you support me like this is—it's good for me, that you wouldn't mind, that you accept I might need a—a break. Thank you.”

His voice wavers a bit as he finishes talking, and something loosens inside Percival at Newt’s tentative acceptance of his less-than-ideal situation. Although Newt may think it's incomprehensible of him to suggest such a thing only months into their mating, this is a matter that has been weighing on his mind for far longer. Their marriage is actually what has slowly given him courage over time, reassuring him that what they have together can encompass both their needs. Certainly, there will be times in which they need to compromise with the given circumstances, but in such a case as this where they don’t have to, then they shouldn’t.

It surprises him that he’s at peace with his decision. He had thought he would be hard-pressed to ever be separated physically from his mate after the kidnapping, but he had also experienced first-hand how adept Newt is on the field, even in problematic situations. It’s no wonder that his mate didn’t know he would be capable of this when even he himself hadn’t known.

But he’ll admit that he’s somewhat relieved Newt won’t be going anytime soon; they seem to be on the same page regarding how young their marriage is. And how funny is that, him being an old man in young love.

“What are you thinking about?” Newt asks as he gets up, hand falling away to settle at Percival’s hip.

“That I’m too old for this,” Percival deadpans, then breaks into a smile at the bewildered stare he receives.

“You’re young enough for me, darling,” his husband remarks cheekily.

Percival pinches his thigh and smirks at Newt’s pout, then they both lean in simultaneously, lips meeting in a chaste kiss. He’s reminded through this simple touch that although their relationship isn’t easy, they’re still working on it together. Newt kisses him again before pulling back, and the adoration in his gaze has Percival blushing; it’s definitely worth a little hardship to be looked at in such a way.

“What do you want to do tomorrow?” Newt asks as they head over to the occamy’s nest so Percival can bid Lady goodnight. “And please don’t say we need to talk; I think that was enough for one weekend.”

“Alright, we’ll save that conversation for next weekend, then.”

“You're terrible.”

He finds Lady already asleep so he gives her a soft stroke and smiles as she snores. Compared to before, she is much more independent and is able to spend most nights in the case, although she still stays with him as much as possible at home or work during the day. Unless he is otherwise occupied with something dangerous or if he needs privacy.

Newt leans against his back and watches over his shoulder. “You’re so good with her,” he murmurs. “Maybe I should get another one for you to adopt.”

“No, thank you; a whole suitcase is enough for me,” is Percival’s dry response. “The next one will be distinctly human.”

His mate inhales sharply, and after a beat of silence, “Is that so?”

Percival turns his head and noses at Newt's cheek. “In a couple years, perhaps.”

It’s the first time he has given a rough timeline for adoption plans, though the answer is vague since all he knows so far is that he doesn’t want one right now. It won’t guarantee that they’ll be any more prepared when that time comes, but he’s certain that whoever they become will have learned a thing or two by then.

Newt hums thoughtfully. “A boy or girl, if I may ask?”

“Doesn’t matter; whoever needs us, I suppose.”

“That makes sense,” and he feels Newt nod, hairs tickling him.

It's a surreal conversation to be having, though that might just be because he’s quite tired. They’re casually discussing a future child as if it won’t entail immense responsibility, and no one even thinks of mentioning the imaginary child’s secondary gender. As different as they are, he and Newt can be rather like-minded in some things.

“What if I find one on my travels?”

“As long as it’s not illegal,” Percival sighs, playing along. “It wouldn’t be a good impression to show that you have trouble keeping to the law, would it.”

Newt giggles loudly, then quickly muffles it into Percival’s shoulder when he hushes him. The occamys stir for a brief moment then settle again, and he drags the both of them away quietly.

In the workshop, Newt presses him against the door and kisses him soundly, gentle hands spanning the column of his neck, fingers caressing the nape as thumbs stroke along his jaw. He tells Percival that he loves him, whispers it over and over again into his mouth.

“This might be a strange thing to say right now,” he mutters when they part, “but I look forward to the next few years with you.”

“Only a few years?” Percival asks with a straight face.

“Just taking it a little bit at a time,” Newt grins.

“Smart man,” he concedes, lips curling into a smirk. “Well, then, that makes two of us.”


End file.
